Grey Would Be the Color, If I Had a Heart : Fresme short story
by Malakai-Macabre
Summary: What if during the festival Esmeralda was caught and incarcerated? A Fresme short story because this is a ship I can't let go of. Title is from a Nine Inch Nails song "Something I Can Never Have." [Edited]: This story is COMPLETED, but I would be happy to write an epilogue depending upon the feedback, if readers are interested in one. Also, check the poll please!
1. Chapter 1

The sun was at it's peak when the bells began to toll. Their chimes echoed for miles, scattering unsuspecting birds and raising onlookers gazes skyward. Down below, the streets were bustling with foot traffic and staged kiosks for tonight's festival. A festival for fools, traditionally held on the first day of a new year.

Today was no different for this gypsy. She would don her costume, mount the stage with a royal purple silk sash, and dance everyone into a oblivion. Some called it seduction, other's said it was magic, and for the more pious kind, claimed she had beguiled them. Withal, she was only there for the gold tossed on stage.

The gypsy veered away from the heavy traffic and drew the hood over her head closer, shielding her face from onlookers. Her only compeer was a small white billy goat that she had for years who idled by her side as she reached under her cloak to retrieve a coin sack. She loosened the tie at the top and widened the open.

"Just enough to eat for tonight," she muttered as she eyed it's contents. She fastened it again and returned the bag into her pouch. The bells had finally stilled, leaving just the hum of chatter from those around her. The occasional clunking of horses passed by with the rickety groans of wagons in tow. All this thrummed together in one smooth coalescence.

Soon, the gypsy would have to re-enter to courtyard. Half of her longed to be on stage, to be dancing freely; the other half wanted to remain in the shadows until night fall.

"Gypsy filth…," they'd sneer. "Thieves!"

Sure, she had her way of toiling trinkets and treasures but only to those who wronged her or rightfully deserved it. They had it coming, she'd yell back as she fled with their items. The hour was upon her and now she needed to start dancing, entertaining, and most of all, enjoying herself. For years in her travels, she participated in festivities where she danced and danced until her euphoria permeated the air that could be . Today would be no different. Somewhere in the midst, Clopin had arranged a tent for her to ready for the evening performances.

As if on cue, the entire courtyard exploded into music and cheer. Horns blew while children ran passed the gypsy with the sound of instruments clashing together. The gypsy came out of the dark alley and rounded the brick corner. Perching on her toes, she peered over the heads of those around her. Sure enough, the festival was starting and she needed to get ready to perform.

The gypsy rushed into the crowd, blending into the flood of patrons, peasants, and nobles. Confetti perpetually rained from above as the gypsy reached her tent and began getting undressed. The music was fast-paced and excited, seeming almost tangible in the air as she slipped her gown on. She kicked off her slippers and linked a gold bracelet around her ankle. It jingled as she maneuvered around her makeshift dressing room. Just when she was about finished up, a disruptive sound averted her attention at the mouth of the tent just as a man spilled into the area from outside, almost as if he was tossed through the entrance.

The gypsy cried out in surprise as the stranger attempted to gather themselves off the floor.

"Are you alright?" She knelt, trying to help him up.

"No!" He stammered, swatting her hands away. He staggered back while looking around for the exit while managing to keep the gypsy from seeing his face.

"Please, let me help." She took him by the wrist gently and pulled him to his feet. "You're not hurt, are you?" Her fingers brushed off dirt that clung to his navy robe while her eyes began searching for any injuries.

"Please, no. I'm fine." He said again, trying to shield his face from her sight. His callused fingers tugged gingerly at the hem of his hood with his shoulders hunkering downward.

The gypsy reached beneath, cupping him under his chin and forcing him to look up at her. Her vivid green eyes met that of his, and immediately his resistance diminished.

From what she could tell, there was no obvious damage. The young man was merely embarrassed and frightened to be in a woman's dressing quarters. His fool's mask was also impeccable, the best she'd seen thus far.

"See?" She smiled, "No harm done. Just try to be more careful." The gypsy tucked a lock of red hair back from his face as she led him by his hand towards the opening of the tent. "See you around." Another sincere smile.

He returned it with a meekness the gypsy adored.

"By the way," she called out to him with a wink, "Great mask!"

It was time for the her to perform as she crawled onto the back area of the stage. There she waited for the jester of tonight's festival, Clopin, to sing her name out.

"Beat the drums and blow the trumpets!" His voice rang out over the ecstatic crowd. The cheers were deafening ; to the point the gypsy could barely make out if her cue was ready.

The cymbals clashed as Clopin bellow, "Come one! Come all! Hurry, hurry here's your chance! See the mystery and romance! Come one! Come All! See the finest girl in France. Make an entrance to entrance! Dance La Esmeralda!"

She looked up from her spot under the stage, Clopin's feet were right above her, his fist raised high, clenching tightly until swiftly he threw the item down. A cloud of pink smoke exploded beneath him, swallowing him whole. The crowd gasped until the mist disappeared and in his place was the gypsy dancer, Esmeralda.

In a vibrant red gown, a purple silk sash tied around her tiny waist, and barefooted, the black-headed gypsy with the emerald green eyes swirled about the stage. Her hips twitching to the song while she bounced the tambourine against her thigh. Eventually, she discarded the instrument somewhere along the crowd and pirouetted about the stage. Esmeralda spotted the young man from earlier, hiding in the crowd, the same demure along his smile and she returned it gladly. What she hadn't descried was the menacing black-clad judge at the head of the stage she performed upon. Submersed in the shadows, his eyes bore straight into Esmeralda while she danced. He didn't appear to be enjoying the show, that or he had an excellent way of hiding it. Come what may, Esmeralda didn't allow this to tarnish her high.

Esmeralda knew plenty about the Judge Claude Frollo, never having seen him in the flesh, but she knew he wasn't favorable as far as the gypsies were concerned. Today was a festival for fools, however. There was no sense in the chip on the shoulder, not with the comically chaos that reigned all around. Esmeralda spiraled about, catching eyes with Judge Frollo once again. She saw his lips moving with distaste as he spoke to a nearby Captain, ne'er removing his eyes from her. Even the celestial roll to her hips credited no reaction on his behalf. This confused the gypsy, for as long as she could recall, her strength was the weakness in man; a beautiful woman graceful and light on her feet.

The music stopped abruptly and so did the gypsy.

Esmeralda decided to bring it a little closer for Judge Frollo's convenience. She slowly stated for the minister of justice, sauntering towards him while he watched her gait like a hawk. She reached him toe-to-toe, and casually climbed into his lap, straddling both sides of his hips with her powerful thighs. The look of horror struck his face quench Esmeralda's curiosity, he was no different than any other man, just with the right push. Now he was pinned between shock and awe, stammering in a bewildered plight. Esmeralda took the silken sash from her waist and tossed it around the back of Frollo's neck. She fisted the ends and yanked him forward, crushing her mouth against his. The music sprang back to life once their lips met followed by the crowds cheers and bellows; to much of her surprise, his jaw slacked, allowing her wet tongue to dart in and taste his own, coaxing out the desire he had so adamantly hidden. Her tanned hands came up to cup his hard jaw as she tasted him. She felt the judge mumble something against her mouth, a moan perhaps? But before he could indulge himself more, she pulled away and shoved his chaperon hat down onto his face.

She was already off his lap and across the stage before he could pull his hat up and correct himself. From where she danced, she noticed one hand held his hat in place while the other clutched blindly at the front of his robe.

Esmeralda met his cold gaze once more while a smile crept up her still pouty and flushed lips, wet from his tongue. The kiss lingered along her mouth while she continued to dance. The show ended with her confiscating a soldier's spear, jamming it into the stage floor, and spiraling down upon it until the sky rained golden coins. One more glance at the judge, she allowed herself. He'd been watching her even more closely after she stole a kiss. She winked and began gathering the gold that littered the stage.

Clopin reappeared as she cleaned the stage of coins, excited to claim this years festival of fools' new King of Fools. Esmeralda initiated the contest by pulling men onto the stage. All were dressed in their most ridiculous attire and costumes. This is when she spotted the young man from earlier. He was near the right side of the stage when she found him. She reached out and he gladly took her hand. Carefully, she helped him onto the stage then lined him up with the rest of the contestants.

Forthwith, and one by one, she began removing the mask while the men tried for the most grotesque mien they could administer, but the crowd heckled and bellowed, sending the contestants into the mud down below. Finally Esmeralda reached the young man who fell into her tent, but when she grabbed the side of his jowls and pulled, the mask did not remove itself. In fact, it wasn't a mask at all.

She let go immediately and gasped in horror. Her hands came over her mouth out of mere reflex while she stepped back.

The crowd mirrored her surprise and voiced their own opinions.

"That's no mask!" A voice cried out, "that's a man!"

A woman screamed while more collection of people gasped in awe.

"Look at his face!" One gawked.

"He's hideous!" Another exclaimed.

"That's the bell ringer from Notre Dame!"

Esmeralda had already disappeared into the back once the man, who she now discovered to be Quasimodo, had been crowned the King of Fools. She changed from her stage clothes to her regular attire, a white tunic tucked into a lilac skirt. The crowd was still cheering at the new crowned King of Fools, but while she ran her fingers through the thick tresses of her hair, the aura from the festival shifted. Her hands slowed down while she listened to the mass of voices from outside. Like a shadow cast across the square, the cheers came to a unsteady silence. A man was shouting, women began to gasp. Something didn't sit well with the gypsy dancer as she turned and threw open the flaps of the tent. With haste, she pushed through the crowd until the center platform came to view.

When her emerald eyes devoured the scene before her, her stomach twisted painfully, things had definitely took a turn for the worst.

Quasimodo, the man who rang the bells, was now tied down by ropes while the citizens, who just moments ago cheered for his anointment, now threw spoiled produce at him.

"Master!" He cried as the onslaught continued. "Master, please!" The wheel he was subjected to began to turn, rotating him around so that every patron had a chance to strike him with thrown items.

Esmeralda had seen enough and reacted with heed and wrath.

She shoved her way through the crowd until she was mounting the stairs in seconds. The laughter and chaos ceased when the entire courtyard observed her slowly approach the King of Fools, Quasimodo. He was sobbing and trembling. His body was marred with mold and fluid from the food thrown against him.

Esmeralda untied the scarf from her waist and spoke, "Don't be afraid." Even her voice shook with emotion, one that she could not place.

Quasimodo glanced up at her, wounded from humiliation. His arms were pinned behind him at an unnatural position, she could only imagine the pain as she knelt beside him.

"I'm sorry this happened." She reached down with the scarf around her fingers, she began cleaning the mess from his cheek. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"You!" A voice rang out across the crowd, "Gypsy girl! Get down at once!"

She knew where the voice was coming from, and hoped it didn't belong to her first guess. Her eyes panned over the top of the crowd until settling upon the Minister of Justice.

Judge Frollo was on his feet, glaring with malicious intent with his mouth was drawn taut with anger.

Esmeralda stood back up and responded, "Yes, Your Honor. As soon as I free this poor creature."

"I forbid it!" He slashed through the air with the back of his hand.

Anger began boiling in Esmeralda's blood. She produced a dagger from beneath her skirt and began sawing at the confining ropes around Quasimodo.

"How dare you defy me!" Yelled the judge.

Esmeralda helped Quasimodo to his feet, placing the knife back in her garter.

"Mark my words, gypsy. You will pay for this insolence."

"Then it appears we've crowned the wrong fool." She jeered. Esmeralda turned to Quasimodo, yanked the makeshift jester hat from head, and tossed it across the ground. The crown landed at the foot of the minister's platform.

"Captain Phoebus, arrest this woman at once!" The judge growled without removing his eyes from her.

Esmeralda had to think on her feet as the soldier's began to hone in on her. Did they really intend to arrest her for freeing this tortured man? Was this allowed?

The crowd parted around the soldiers and their horses until all sides of Esmeralda were flanked by men. She had no where to go and no tricks up her sleeve for once in her life.

A blonde captain trudged up the steps, "Come with us ma'am." He seemed disappointed and reluctant to arrest her but did so by orders of the Judge.

"You can't do this." She said in a hushed tone, trying to reason with the Captain of the Guard. "I have done nothing wrong." Esmeralda tried meeting with his eyes, but he repudiated any attempts.

The Captain respired to himself as he took hold of her by the arm, he steered her off the stage and escorted her to the Palace of Justice.

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Judge Claude Frollo was retiring in his quarters when a knocking came at the door.

"Come in," he said.

Carefully, the door opened; from the other side, a soldier emerged. "Sir, we have the gypsy."

"Good." Frollo absentmindedly readjusted his robe as he stared out of the window. The sun was setting in Paris and the city was calming down from the evenings festival. "Bring her to me."

A foreboding feeling had overcome him, and he believed at this point that he assumed he had been spellbound; that the gypsy girl had cast a trance on him the moment their lips met. A burning he had never felt before ignited within him, a yearning to taste her, to feel her had seized his sense, turning ablaze within him to a scorching massacre.

Frollo couldn't think of anything else but the green-eyed gypsy who captivated his soul.

Without realizing, his hands fisted, closing in on themselves until his knuckles bore white. Just thinking about the festival in which she clamored onto his lap like a snake slithering through the hot sand. Smooth, effortless, natural. The proximity that was devoured between the two of them was more than the judge could handle, or had ever.

He heard the chamber door close and the sound of the soldier's footsteps begin to retreat, leaving Frollo, once again, alone with thoughts of the gypsy woman, and the rapture that came with. The fragrance that followed with her still lingered on his court robe. Ever so often, he's nose would catch it's intoxicating aroma, flare his nostrils and seize him in the spell he so adamantly fought. It was, indeed, a losing battle. One he had never conquered previously, never knew the battle that she had ensued within him.

Her kiss had seared him down to his soul, scorching the purity away and replacing it with lust and carnivorous sin. Frollo cast his glare to the flame burning in the fireplace. He reached up into his robe and retrieved the silk scarf she had left in his lap. Wrapping it around his hand, he pressed the fabric against his lips and inhaled until his lungs could take in no more.

When he closed his eyes he could see her onyx hair and the burning gaze she gave him at the parade. He needed to pray, to wash away the impure thoughts she had planted in his soul.

"Gypsy witch," he growled into the purple silk. He brought the scarf down from his face and glared at it. "Is this God's plan?" His dark eyes drifted to night sky that had taken a hold of Paris. The evening was coming to a calming end, even though today was far more abstract than ever before.

What was taking the men so long to bring her to him?

Rubbing the purple sheer fabric between his fingers, he gave it one last brush with his lips before tossing it into the blaze before him. His eyes watched as the suns and stars that decorated the material wither against the inferno before charring and converting to ash. He had made it too far to be hindered by a gypsy witch. He turned from the fire to seek out his chaperon hat. The guardsmen were either taking a lengthy detour, or something had interfered.

The judge donned his hat and exited the chamber.

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The door to her holding cell was all but kicked open.

"On your feet, gypsy." The soldier barked.

Esmeralda squinted against the sudden flood of light from the outside corridor, her shackled hands came up to shield her eyes when they entered in pairs. One grabbed her from the left and the other had her right. Together, they yanked her to her feet and escorted her out the holding cell and up a spiraling stone staircase after removing the shackles around her wrists.

"Where are you taking me?" She inquired with coy curiosity as they marched up the stone steps.

"The judge wants to see you." The other soldier replied.

Immediately, her thoughts jumped back to the moment she had climbed onto his lap and kissed him. What the hell was she thinking? Not only did she display that entirety to the city of Paris, now she was going to be humiliated before the judge and who knew what else. A punishment for her public behavior, most likely.

As the three began their ascent to the ground floor from the dungeons, a thought struck the gypsy maiden. As if someone one had whispered in her ear, Esmeralda nearly had forgotten the dagger still strapped to her thigh. Although, both arms were carelessly handled by the guards on either side of her, she had a few tricks to get them off, and onto their butts, sparing enough time for her to bolt into hiding. They reached the height of the stairs and proceeded along a narrow hall.

Esmeralda waited until they reached a dark stretch between torches along the hallway before she yanked her arms without warning, she dropped down onto the plush carpet as soon as the men reacted. They swung their arms, grabbing at the empty darkness while she scampered towards the side of the hallway. Esmeralda got to her feet and pressed her back against the stone wall while the men shouted and bumped into another.

"Grab a torch, you fool!" One bellowed. The sound of scuffing feet and clanking armor came towards Esmeralda. Her hand blindly sought against the wall behind her until her fingers came to grasping a door knob. She twisted it and push, slinking into a new layer of darkness.

When her eyes finally adjusted she found herself in another narrow hallway with windows on the right, and a few doors on her left, at the end of the corridor was another door. Without hesitation, she ran forward. Her bare feet but whispers along the carpet as she raced to the end. Faltering for a brief moment, she glanced outside to see what could be found. There was no courtyard on the other side, or even a sidewalk, but a sheer drop over looking a garden a few hundred feet down below. She couldn't smash the window and scale down without breaking at least one bone.

Esmeralda quickly tossed the idea and ran to the door at the far end of the hall. She reached forward, ready to yank it open, but it the knob pulled away from her touch, slipping from her grasp. Her foot caught the carpet in the attempt to stop and pitched her forward, plummeting into the yawning darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Although, Frollo's footsteps were only subtle scuffs across the carpet floor, his mind was in a chattering chaos. The gypsy girl had been detained during the festival, much to his surprise, considering gypsies were slippery creatures, and always managed to escape at the last second. Now one resided down in the damp belly of the dungeon, awaiting trial at Frollo's discretion. In the midst of deciding her fate, the guardsmen notified the minister of justice that she was properly achieved and settled into her cell.

"Bring her to me," he had ordered. He had much to confer between he and the gypsy maiden.

However, as time progressed, he took notice on the delay taken place between summoning the girl and receiving her. Frollo was a patient man, indeed, but not quite at the moment.

What was taking them so long? The palace wasn't too terribly vast.

Feeling ill at ease, judge took it upon himself to see to it that the gypsy was well-informed with the trials that were about to take place, he would go down there himself if he had to.

Before leaving his drawing room, he lit a candle and settled it into a holder. Donning his chaperon hat at the door, Frollo began his descent to the dungeons.

He made it midway before something suggested things had gone awry. First, he heard shouts. Their voices that of his guards, the men who went before him. Thinking hastily, he hurried forward towards the end of the corridor. Secondly, when he opened the next door, a figure stumbled through. Their bodies collided, knocking the candle from the judge's grasp, and onto the floor. The flame distinguished immediately, swallowing both the minister and the assailant into total darkness. Out of reaction, Frollo's hands came up to protect himself. He accosted the individual awkwardly, blindly struggling against one another until his back met the stone wall roughly, but the skirmish ended just as quick as it began when Frollo felt the sharp point of a knife press against the flesh of his jugular.

His body tensed and his hands let go of their small frame. "I'm unarmed." He tried reasoning while his eyes strained against the impenetrable darkness. Then he smelled the bouquet of the gypsy girl and knew forthwith who she was. His senses came to a pinnacle while his heart jump started. His breath hitched for a moment, then hungrily drank her intoxicating fragrance.

"Shut up!" a female's voice sibiliated. Her entire body was pressed against his, and it started to become unnerving for the judge. Even in the thick darkness he could make out her voluptuous curves, the mounds upon her chest were brushing against him. Frollo sucked in a hiss, gritting his teeth together while he endure the onslaught of aspiration.

"I will not harm you." He said in a grave whisper. Frollo's voice as deep as it was made it difficult to whisper without coming off menacing. How would he convince the maiden to lower her guard if he sounded just as malignant as she?

She started to move and then he felt her hand fist the fabric of his robe. She yanked him forward, away from the wall and turned him towards the other end of the corridor.

"Walk." She ordered, bringing the tip of the blade to his side and pressing it along his ribs. She had fisted a portion of his robe near the center of his shoulders, using this to steer the judge. The more she spoke, the more Frollo realized how much he craved to taste her mouth on his, to eat her words with his kisses, replacing them with cravings that reflected his own. He swallowed thickly while pushing the lustrous thoughts from his head. The devil was busy filling his skill to the brim with sin. Just in the presence of the girl nearly made him weak in the knees with want.

"You're making a foolish mistake, gypsy girl." Frollo muttered as he walked. He maintained a nonchalant prose while keeping wary of obstacles that might inhibit his approach. "Besides, I can not see where I am going. I need light, witch."

"Shut up!" The gypsy maiden growled. There was panic that laced her sweet voice and her breathing hadn't relaxed, even after the scuff between the two of them. "Show me where the exit is and I won't hurt you."

A malicious grin lifted the corner of the judge's mouth, how natural for a gypsy to barter even when life was at stake.

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Esmeralda was having trouble collecting herself. In all of her life where situations lead to something very similar to what was before her, ne'er had they been conducted in sheer darkness. Gypsies were never good within stone walls, this only exceeded that threshold when encompassed with thick black shadows, impenetrable in sight. It was suffocating and nearly tangible, the inky blackness that surrounded her. Her body was pinned between staying put until daybreak or darting blindly for any source of light. Even the blade trembled in her grasp, she prayed the judge didn't notice her quake.

She nudged him when she realized he had stopped moving. Even though her eyes saw nothing, she still darted them about, hoping to catch a glimmer or a slice of light, anything to focus on but the shadows that encased the pair.

Still the judge made no move, "Move!-" She started but in the darkness, Esmeralda couldn't anticipate his sudden behavior.

He lurched forward, yanking free from her gasp, and snagging her wrist before she could react in time. Esmeralda felt her arm twist at an unnatural angle causing her to yelp out in pain. Instinctively her knees buckled to relieve the pain that shot up her arm. When she fell, Frollo released his hold and stepped away. The gypsy cried with relief when the hold disappeared. She clambered back from the judge, got readily to her feet, picked a direction, and stared running.

Her hip clipped a blunt object and nearly brought her back to the floor, instead she caught the ledge of another wooden furnishing by luck and righted herself. She knew the judge was advancing her, but even in the blinding darkness, survival kept her legs moving, even if it meant blindly. The space eventually came to an abrupt halt when she connected to a wall, luckily for Esmeralda, it turned out to be a door. Both of her hands attacked the knob, sending the door swinging wide. A soft light aided her from the torches mounted against the stone wall, their light lead her down a spiraling staircase made of marble. Unfortunately, for every gypsy, luck only succeeded for so long, once she reached the bottom, her ruckus alerted a pair of guards on duty.

"You!" One of them barked upon noticing her, above she could hear the judge shouting.

Esmeralda's heart was hammering in her rib cage, clawing it's way up her throat. With the judge descending from above and the guards closing in on her front, she took an unorthodox exit by swinging over the banister.

The drop was approximately 30 feet, but the second her feet hit the stone, it felt like she dropped from the top of Notre Dame. Her knees buckled sending her into a tuck-a-roll, but gypsies don't stay down for long, plus the guards were rerouting back down the stairs. Scrambling to her feet, she found the nearest exit; a wooden door beneath the staircase.

Bursting through the heavy frame, she spilled into a kitchen filled with working servants. Their clamoring and audible havoc, mixed with kitchenware being dropped, only heightened the hysteria for the gypsy girl. She clawed her way through the back before expelling from the kitchen's door into the cold dark night like a wild animal from a constricting cage. Esmeralda pumped her legs against the gravel in a frenzy as she fled across the rear courtyard. In the still night, only the soft pounding of her footfalls and the rhythmic chimes of her anklet rang quietly.

The gypsy had escaped the Palace of Justice, but the chase had just begun.


	3. Chapter 3

Esmeralda ran until her lungs threatened to burst. She allowed herself to slow down, tripping while doing so; she collapsed onto the earth and struggled to catch her breath. Her bare feet were coated in mud and bracken she had snagged along the way. Heavy pants came out in wispy clouds illuminated by the full moon above while she groveled within the dirt, her ears burned from the cold and she couldn't feel her toes.

Now what? She thought. She would eventually have to turn back and head home to the Court of Miracles. But how much time would that buy her until Frollo had the entire city upside down, looking for her?

When the panic began to subside and her heart had returned to her rib cage, Esmeralda got to her weary legs and trudged on. She managed to create quite a breadth from the Palace of Justice, she had no surety to how long she had been fleeing, or if the judge had summoned a search party after her by now.

An uneasiness came over Esmeralda as she ruminated the thought . If there were a search party, it'd only be a matter of minutes before the thunders of a trivial cavalry were upon her. A new flower of dread budded in her mind as she walked through the brush. She hadn't even stuck around long enough to even see what the judge wanted. She figured it would be devastating, the man hated gyspies far more than she hated stone walls, but what if it wasn't? What if he only wanted an apology? Maybe have her beg for forgiveness? He seemed to have a kink for hearing cries of mercy, or so she was told.

Her entire body protested when she traipsed forward through the forested area. Her throat now scorched and winded while her tongue sat heavy in her mouth. Albeit, she had surpassed the threat by escaping from the Palace of Justice, even managed to create enough distance to bide her some time, something still felt vexed, even out of harms way and submersed in the quiet woods. Esmeralda felt she had traveled far enough out of the palace's perimeter, and suggested to herself it best to head back.

As if answering her mental notes, a branch broke off in the darkness bringing Esmeralda abruptly from her thoughts. Her head snapped towards the rustle while her eyes scanned the dimmed area for any subtle movements. She slowed her footfalls as she studied the narrow shadows that were of trees, straining her eyes to notice anything unusual. The sense of forebode came in sevenfold causing her heart to grow apprehensive. Another sound triggered on the gypsie's left, re-averting her gaze. Suddenly, she felt she was no longer alone, and surrounded at that.

The first sudden movement came from her left.

A figure sprang out from the brush, swinging a club and hollering at the peak of his lungs. If anything gypsies could be proud of, it'd be the ability to deflect danger, via escape. Esmeralda was already moving by the time he realized he had missed.

The second came immediately after she jumped out of the way. The other assailant slammed into her midsection, tackling her to the ground and there, the strife continued. Esmeralda felt his meaty hands wrap around her throat as soon as her back met the ground. Explosions of light sparkled across her vision as man climbed on top of her torso, pinning her while he squeezed the air from her lungs. Instinctively, her hands went mad at his fingers, scratching and tearing at his flesh while she struggled to release his grip. She bucked her hips, an attempt to toss him off of her, but the man's weight exceeded her vigor, far more than she could support against alone. Her strangled cries and feeble gasp were turning shallow while her lungs screamed for air, the man perched on top of her only added to her daunted mind. She could hear his grunting and see that his teeth were bared as he squeezed the life from her with all his might. Her mind thought of Djali, her sweet little goat. Clopin, the man who brought her to Paris and helped her onto her feet.

And then Frollo, the last man she would ever kiss.

It startled the gypsy, even in the havoc that swallowed her, that her mind would play that out, one lingering memory soon to be erased.

Esmeralda's skirt had shifted when she tried throwing the man off, exposing most of her thighs and lower hips. It was the glint of the moonlight caught on her dagger that brought Esmeralda out of her dying languor. Her arm reacted out of primary need, snagging the blade tout de suite, and burying it to it's hilt within the man's temple.

Her lungs rushed to bring in air when the iron grip around her throat diminished, greedily pulling at the night's cool wind. Her body soon began racking itself with coughs while fighting to breathe and to right itself. Esmeralda pushed the man off of her and rolled onto her side. Her fingers dug into the earth as she crawled on her hands and knees, putting enough space between her and the man she had just killed. As the heaving and coughing racked her frame and her lungs drank in air with lusty gasps, her body trembled from exertion. The man, now dead by her side with a dagger's handle protruding from the side of his skull, watched with fixed eyes and thin trickles of blood running down his face.

She completely forgot about her first attacker who watched the entire spar, but it wasn't until she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and began looking around when he stepped into view again, swinging as he did so.

Esmeralda was shakily getting to her feet when the blow struck the back of her head causing a white flash to explode across her vision, her body went slack with little protest before collapsing to the ground just as the world turned black.

When she came to the first thing she attempted was to pull her hands apart. Esmeralda was on her side, bound and gagged. Her clothes were stripped and in their stead was a scratchy fabric, similar to the material her people used to store potatoes and radishes within. Aside from being inhibited with rough ties and a smelly cloth across her mouth, her body ached and her throat still remained scorched and dry. Esmeralda readjusted herself and sat up when she did this, the room swam in a violent manner while a wave of pain throbbed at the back of her skull . She squeezed her eyes shut and fought down the cry bubbling in her throat, breathing around the arduous pain. Esmeralda's sage-colored eyes blinked against the sparks of light that exploded across her sight until the tiny dots slowly subsided altogether.

A heavy sigh came from her with the pain began to taper, once her vision rocked itself back into a balance, the gypsy looked around. She was tossed into a makeshift tent, the floor was exposed ground, and not much else. In fact, Esmeralda wasn't even tied to anything other than herself. She rubbed her wrist together to test the strength of whatever had her bound. The fabric was tough and she still needed a knife to make a dent in breaking it. She quickly glanced down and remembered she had been changed, they more than likely removed her dagger.

No, a voice whispered.

Her marred neck became another reminder.

She lifted her green eyes to the mouth of the tent, out there her dagger awaited. Either confiscated, ignored, or discarded, but all in all, she had murdered someone.

Pinned between mental anguish and the will to survive, there wasn't much else the gypsy maiden could have done. It was either her or him.

For once, luck was on her side, if only temporary. Luck didn't get her whacked across the head and then incarcerated in a scanty tent, now did it?

Lost in her own mental castigation, she was startled when the tent's opening was thrown back. A man entered, fat and hideous as per Esmeralda. Muck and grime coated his skin and even from her stance, he smelt like manure.

"Hello, lovely." He sneered with a tarnish black smile. "Someone is finally awake." His pudgy cheeks pressed up from his smile and into his beady eyes that scoured every curve of her body.

Esmeralda narrowed her eyes and leaned away when he reached out to touch her.

"Aww, don't be like that," he cooed. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. "Your company is requested by, none other than François Villon, himself."

_Frances, who?_ Blinked Esmeralda as he lead her out of the tent. A few other men sat about the camp area, some near a fire. Some were sharpening their blades while others gorged themselves with food in a savage manner, smearing the contents all over their faces as they ate. Even as a gypsy, the sight was repulsive. The men either cared not, or had no idea what hygiene was or could do for one's spirit.

The man continued to banter with Esmeralda while they walked through the camp. More men came into view and a heavy sense of dread began to build for the gypsy maiden. Rowdy men in unrestricted areas would make any woman weary and at unease. Every pair of eyes watched her as they passed.

The two finally came to stop just before a deep burgundy colored tent with gold embroidery along the hem. "Sir!" The man bellowed, shaking Esmeralda around. "I brought you the girl!" As the two waited, she observed the creature beside her. His hands were thick like sausages and covered in grime. He rose a meaty paw and ran the back of it across his nose, smearing snot along before dropping down and wiping it's contents onto his pants.

Esmeralda closed her eyes and took a deep breath, she counted to ten before someone finally opened the tent. "Yes, yes. Bring her in."

The two stepped forward, "No-, not you. Just the girl."

She meandered into the tent, surprised to find it a remarkable contrary to the poverty she witnessed outside.

"Please, sit!" The man was fully dressed, head to foot, in fabric Esmeralda only dreamed about. Silks, jewels, fox fur ; the whole nines. His face, flawless and pale, but chubby like the rest of his body. His nose was round and small while his mouth, a pouty remnant of puckered baby fat. Esmeralda wasn't fond of this man, either. Brown corkscrew curls bloomed out from beneath his embroidered hat, which he made sure nothing touched nor marred it's artistic pomp.

Esmeralda picked the nearest chair and settled herself within, her hands still tied and her mouth still covered.

The zaftig man plopped on his own stool and tossed his leg over the other. He seemed far too sprightly, given the current circumstance his men were in, or at least, displayed.

"Do you know who I am?" He chirped with a grin.

Esmeralda considered speaking through the cloth, but had no interest in entertaining him with a muffled reply. She remained silent and took a quick glance about the room.

"Oh, sorry!" He realized, reaching forward he removed the cloth from her mouth, tucking the material beneath her chin.

"No," replied the gypsy.

"Ah, my name is François Villon, I am a poet!" His words were short and excited.

Esmeralda hid the surprise from Villon, she knew well who he was and his intentions. With sudden clarity, she also knew why he was here, aimlessly camped out on the skirts of Paris. Villon was a thief, a master one. His signature included robbing churches blind which made even more sense why he was just beyond the Palace of Justice, masked behind the trees and brush. She presumed he was going to attempt a robbery. If it was as easy getting in as it was getting out, he might have a chance at toiling the Palace of Justice. Judging by the rolls that extended over his gaudy attire, Esmeralda assumed he wasn't as quick on his feet, as she.

When Esmeralda maintained her silence, he continued. "Do you know why I brought you here?"

She met his eyes again, unamused with his banter and coyness. "No." She replied dryly.

A cheeky grin lifted his pudgy face, "Well!" He began, " I could say it's because you killed one of my men. Or!" He seemed far too excited, "I could suggest it's because a pretty girl like you needs looking after." He blinked. "But in all reality, I can't have strangers wandering in and out of my campsite without my discretion. You were trespassing, gypsy, and I don't tell lightly to trespassers."

"That's why your men attacked me?" Esmeralda questioned incredulously.

He nodded quickly, "and also because there's a warrant out for your arrest."

"Already?" Esmeralda gawked. "It hasn't even been a day. Besides, there's a warrant out for your arrest, as well."

"Ahh, but I'm not wanted by the Minister of Justice, now am I?"

"It'll only be a matter of time." She gave a sweet smile which caused Villon's nostrils to flare.

"Careful," he said with admonishment, "Those men out there haven't touched or tasted a woman in weeks. I would be grief stricken to see such a flower as yourself, tarnish and wither under their immorality."

Esmeralda opened her mouth to repudiate, but decided against it. She cast her glare down to the plush rug beneath her bare feet, where she splayed her toes and admired the soft material.

"Now gypsy," Villon jeered with delight, "we can accomplish this by two ways." He hopped from his seat and crossed the room until they were toe-to-toe. His meaty hand reached up and brushed a tendril of Esmeralda's hair from her face.

Her body screamed to recoil but she held fast, steadying herself. She closed her eyes and swallowed the grimace.

He bent forward until their faces nearly touched, "Tell me everything you know about the palace."

*l**l*ll**l

A glossy black carriage, drawn by two large breeds of horses, came to a halt before the Captain of the Guard, Phoebus and his men. The driver hopped from his bench and began opening the carriage's door.

When the captain eyed the judge shrouded in darkness, he came to attention and rendered a firm salute. "Good morning, minister."

The judge gave a subtle groan while pinching the bridge of his nose. "Morning," he muttered in his thick voice. He emerged from the carriage, stepping down onto the cobblestone.

"You look rough," Phoebus mused while maintaining bearing.

"It was a dreadful night." The judge replied dusting off the front of his judicial robe. "Any word on the girl?"

"The search party is still underway."

The judge maintained his impassiveness with the static report. A chilling breeze swept through the square while the overcast churned an ominous grey from overhead. It'd been a week since Esmeralda escaped, the guards combed the streets, questioning all patrons alike. No one was talking, but it didn't appear to be because of loyalty or incorporation, it was something else. Frollo had a feeling they were just as dumbfounded and at loss, as he.

"Captain," Frollo began as he watched the clouds seether. He couldn't believe his mind had drifted to this predicament. "That gypsy was in my charge. She escaped, as you can see. However, no one has seen or heard from her." When he looked back at the captain, he appeared contemplative, absorbing the judges words carefully. "Now understand it's uncustomary for me to address a problem with such means, but I'm afraid our poor witch is either dead, or in a bind."

"What do you suggest, sir?" Phoebus inquired.

"Implement the hounds, then scout the area behind the palace." Frollo ordered.

"Yes, sir."

"Thoroughly," Frollo added. "If she's dead, she needs to be returned to Paris, _if _there is one." His eyes drifted back to the ugly overcast. With the chilling winds and biting cold, a storm was forthcoming. Moreover, if Esmeralda was out there, she wouldn't survive another night during the storm. Something foreign was taking over the minister, he didn't like it, however, it wasn't bothersome. For once, God had given him a drive; find the gypsy girl and bring her back to the palace. The disdain he had felt for her was weakening by the hour, the longer she remained away, the more weary the judge became.

Did he care for the poor girl? Of course not, Judge Frollo was the minister, he would never undermine himself with gypsy antics. It was his authority in question. If the most powerful man across Paris couldn't maintain organization within the chaos of criminals and alike, who could?

Frollo bid a farewell to the captain and his guardsmen as they proceeded onward. His horse was tied up nearby, awaiting him. The judge approached the marvelous black beast, who alone could intimidate the most stringent of men. Untying him, Frollo saddled the animal in a fluid mount and veered him towards the Palace of Justice.

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**[A/N] Oh my goodness! I got reviews :D Aguna, thank you for the kind words, and to the guest, your encouragement is greatly appreciated! Thank you guys :]**

**Also! François Villon is, indeed, a real person! An infamous thief and poet during the late Middle Ages, he disappeared in 1463. Where did he go? What was he doing? Well this of course! Troubling our beautiful gypsy!**


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Villon and his gang realized the gypsy knew nothing about the palace aside from the few hours she spent in a cell, Esmeralda had already lost a substantial amount of blood and dignity.

The master thief and his motley bedraggled tribe tried various expedients to lure confessions and insights from the gypsy girl. They purloined ample amounts of cries and throes instead. They burned her, whipped her, bit her, and molested the maiden, pawing greedily at her body like parched men to an oasis. Villon never allowed them to rape her, he was saving that portion for himself when the time was right.

Between her vocalized anguish, her most frequent plead, if at all, was "Why?"

Some of the men suggested it was trespassing, other tried her for murdering one of their own. Other's blamed it on her kind alone. She fought with a fierce drive, almost primitive in itself, hoping to stave off the men.

Esmeralda knew that man wouldn't be missed. This clarity was evident in all their eyes. They didn't care for one another, in fact, at any moment the witness to her deed could have killed her on the spot, intervening even, thus saving his brother's life. Instead, he idled by, watched her plunge the dagger as deep as it could have gone, and only then decided to take action by stunning her senseless then dragging her to the campgrounds. He exuded no remorse, no heartfelt mourning.

Despite all of these reasons, she did feel regret and remorse for killing. Esmeralda had never taken a life until that night. Everything had transpired faster than she could apprehended, she only did what she had to and that was to survive. She was fighting for her life, had no intentions of infringing into their territory, and was only attempting an escape, just to fall into the clutches of another.

Esmeralda was tied to a thick wooden post in the middle of the camp, and directly before Villon's personal tent. The fabric she wore hung loosely on her moribund body, torn and shredded along her back from the flagellating. Blood, tattered skin, and mud caked the tendrils of cloth. Her black raven hair was a mess; it's glossy shine had diminished like her gypsy spirit. What was once her voice, the strong sultry melody that brought even the minister of justice to his knees, now was weak, coarse and foreign to her own ears. When she did speak, they were not words, but cries laced with anguish, pleading for Death to come swiftly and sweetly, to grant her the kiss to her epilogue.

Villon was a merciless man, untied by morals, and his avarice was an abyss with no beginning or end. One could not distinguish his blood lust be sheer sight, but being the object of his anger and buffer to his greedy madness, Esmeralda saw the monster that he was. The animus she felt for the Frenchman rose to excited levels whenever she heard or saw him. He was the pivot point to the chaos inflicted upon her, the foundation to it all. Moreover, she hadn't given him what he wanted, despite knowing she hadn't the information or means to give it; he still demanded prescience she could not offer. Albeit, if she had known anything about the Palace of Justice, she would not cooperate with such a disgusting and vile human. All in all, Esmeralda could not have avoided this. She was beginning to feel in was safer in the dungeons before.

With her head leaning against the rough pole, the gypsy maiden laboriously kept herself breathing. Any amount of movement brought devastating discomfort and it wouldn't be long until her body surrendered itself to oblivion. She'd come to accept this as her fate, she was a fugitive in accordance to Judge Frollo and a prisoner as per Villon. She wanted it all to come to an end.

The site became muted as the few flakes of snow descended around her. At first, it was a dwindling rate, slow but the ground was well frozen, allowing the soft flurries to stick and gather amongst themselves. Eventually the snow began to fall faster causing the men to gather their belongings and trudge into their debilitated tents.

Esmeralda's gaze was fixated on the ground while every effort was directed to breathing; these shallow ragged breaths that tremored and quaked her frame brought more pain than they were worth. She was about to shut her eyes to rest when rustling from the far perimeters of the compound shifted her attention. A glossy russet body on all fours trotted onto the camp area, his black nose pressed to the cold earth. Esmeralda's stomach sank, her thoughts flooded with memories of her pet goat, Djali and the horrors that would be as soon as the men noticed the redbone coonhound that had wandered too far from his master. Although the majority of the men had retired to their quarters once the snowfall began, Esmeralda was worried the animal would be caught and killed, if it were so lucky. How she wished they had caught and killed her immediately.

The gypsy watched as the dog continued to nuzzle the ground. His ears were flopping about his face as he trotted closer and closer towards her. Esmeralda drew her legs inward as she watched the dog with piqued curiosity. The intensity across his face suggested he was onto something. Ever so often, he'd freeze in place, pushing the dirt around with his snout, before quickly veering into another direction. Whether the dog knew it or not, he was honing in on Esmeralda. Anticipation began to creep up the gypsies spine as the dog drew nearer. Once the creature looked up, he finally noticed her. His saggy face snorted then he proceeded to casually pad over to her, but as he got within her immediate proximity, his nose shot down back to the earth and he was strictly business again, until he's snout brushed over Esmeralda's toes. He nudged her thigh, then poked at her ribs before settling his snout into the thick tresses of her hair.

Esmeralda stilled.

The howl that erupted from his mouth was loud and startling for the gypsy. He tore off towards the thickening trees, baying so dramatically that men were roused from their tents. Another sound began, similar to his call, and out from the underbrush a bluetick hound sprang, baying proudly with excitement alongside the other. She could see the fog from his breath as he sang.

More sounds from more hounds rang out, pouring from the woods around the campsite and bringing men out from their quarters to investigate. Panic was emerging from Esmeralda as the gang rallied around her, her eyes kept darting around for Villon. He had a tendency to meander her way every chance he left his tent.

"Where did those mutts come from?" A man asked while he scratched nonchalantly at the crotch of his knickers. A few grumbles from other's but none had a clue.

Esmeralda heard the hissing sound whizz through the air before embedding into it's target. She turned her head just in time to watch a man sink to his knees then fall face first into the dirt. An arrow had made midway through the man's neck before getting lodged.

A pause came across the men who witnessed this, while the blood, rich in color, squirted from his neck and pooled around his head, turning the sticking snow into a harsh crimson slush. Then all at once, the campsite erupted in havoc and dismay from all angles.

More arrows shot out from beyond the trees, some planted into the backs of retreating men, while other's narrowly missed their targets. A thundering clamor soon followed with the arrows as hoards of horses lunged out from the trees. Knights armed with bows and swords paraded across the grounds while Villon's men scattered in various directions. Some trampled over the imprisoned gypsy, stepping on her legs and knocking her back while trying to flee the area. Shouts, thundering, hound's howling, screams, and advancing men filled Esmeralda's ears like a great flood.

Soon there were more horsemen than gang members as the casualty number steadily increased by the second. A white stallion surged forward, out from the chaos and halted directly in front of Esmeralda.

She looked up, recognizing the man forthwith as the Captain of the Guard. He dismounted immediately and rushed to her side.

"We're getting you out of here." He told her as he cut the rope around her wrist, he scooped her up into his arms and rushed back to his horse.

Esmeralda gasped from the pain when she was lifted. The wounds on her back were far from healed and what little her body had managed, now tore again, reopening the wounds and bringing forth warm trickles of blood. The severity of dolor nearly incapacitated her as the captain mounted his horse with her in tow. He wrenched the beast around and struck it's side, sending it into a frenzied gallop.

*l*ll*l*

Phoebus was in a race against time. With the frozen and half-dead gypsy precariously cradled in his lap, one arm enveloped her close, while the other clutched the reins in his speedy pursuit. Her head lulled back, resting against the bend of his elbow with her eyes closed. The color of her lips were pale and cracked from dehydration, even her body had changed, no longer appearing soft and voluptuous, but thin and malnourished. Phoebus didn't want his mind considering the treatment that had been bestowed upon Esmeralda, but he couldn't help but imagine the worst. Word had reached the Captain of the Guard about a garrison of men on the outskirts of Paris, troubling sounds were emitting from the area, that and suspicious activity had been reported. As the captain, it was his duty to respond. He sent a scout to the area and less than an hour later, he returned winded and frantic, words spilled from his mouth faster than his lips could form. He told the captain that he had found the gypsy maiden, that she was detained at the fort by François Villon who had been subjecting her to various forms of torture; at what cost, he knew not.

Phoebus immediately mustered a small regiment and headed out to the campground with a pack of hunting dogs. Before though, he managed to convince Clopin to surrender an item of Esmeralda's to aid in her acquisition, he gave Phoebus a headband. The hounds needed a scent to go off on, without one they would be useless. It was a clever muse on the judge's part to utilize the dogs and proved fruitful.

Now the captain needed to get the maiden to a ward where she could be tended to and nursed back to health.

God forbid she die in his arms now.

He found himself wanting to pull her closer, so he did. She was limp within his hold and unresponsive. This alarmed the captain and a prickle of fear stabbed at his heart.

Bursting from the treeline, the captain tore across the courtyard behind the Palace of Justice. He veered around until he made it onto the cobblestone streets.

"Move!" He shouted as he and the horse rampaged through the narrow passages. "Out of the way!" Men and women shrieked from surprise, clutching their children close and hunkering against nearby walls as the horse galloped passed them. The spires of Notre Dame were coming into view as the captain pressed through the parting crowds. He reached the cathedral steps and dismounted before the horse come to a stop.

"Open the door!" He barked at the ready guardsmen. They drew the massive doors open and the captain rushed in with Esmeralda slack in his embrace.

"Archdeacon!" His voice rang out across the pews, bouncing off the stone walls. Up ahead, the judge and archdeacon looked to the captain with surprise. The men both turned and hurriedly approached.

"My God!" The archdeacon gasped when he saw the mess of blood and state of which Esmeralda was in. "What happened?" He reached forward, gingerly accepting the gypsy maiden into his arms. He didn't wait for the captain to answer him, he turned and ushered Esmeralda to the east ward.

Rage cast over Judge Frollo's feature, his lips grew taut and his body began to quake. Blood soaked the captains trousers and crimson smears marred the front of his armor. "Who did this?" His voice dripped with poison, albeit he had quite a temper, Phoebus had never seen him reach such a passionate conduct, especially in regards of a gypsy.

"Sir, I sent a scout out," Phoebus panted. "He found Villon on the countryside, he had captured the girl."

"Where is he now?" Frollo vehemently pressed.

"My men have him, he should be at the Palace of Justice by now. There were a few casualties, I-"

"Come with me," Frollo interjected, he radiated anger. "We are going to the palace," he then marched out of the cathedral, disappearing into the rapid snow fall with the captain in tow.

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Villon was shackled by hands and feet when the judge arrived.

The caustic man was what he had expected. Impassive, unmoved, and reserved just as the rumors said. However, something troubled him, Villon could see it evident in his eyes.

The judge paused in front of his cell door, lacing his fingers together. "Good evening." He said in a grave voice. A mask came over the minister's face, hiding any emotion from the poet's eyes.

Villon turned to the stoic man and smiled, "Hello."

"My name is Claude Frollo, I am the Minister of Justice." He tilted his head up, "And who might you be?"

Villon's laughter filled the dungeon from wall to wall, "Who am I, you ask?" He shook his head incredulously. "Ahh, minister. You know very well who I am." His eyes darted to the captain of the guard on the judge's left. With a shackled hand, he pointed and jeered, "That's some guard dog you have there."

"I beg your pardon." Phoebus snorted.

Frollo gave the captain a sullen glance, "Your juvenile niggling will do nothing for you down here, I am afraid." He disregarded Villon's attempt to redirect the topic, settling his scrutinizing gaze back onto the poet. Frollo whispered something to the captain, who turned away and exited the chamber leaving the minister alone with Villon.

"Now what were you doing lurking on my countryside?" Frollo tilted his head to the side with slight amusement while waiting for Villon's response.

Villon smiled sheepishly, "It's beautiful, what can I say?" He watched Frollo pick a piece of lint from his robe and flick it away, the arrogance exuding from the judge enraged Villon, who was a nobleman by definition, the degree of contempt he received was lurid. He gritted his teeth and diverted his scowl elsewhere.

"You took something that didn't belong to you. That is what you do, correct?" The judges voice was nonchalantly speaking, but Villon ignored him, so he continued. "I do not like it when people take things that are rightfully mine." The chamber door opened followed by scuffing footfalls. Villon hoped in his silence that the judge had left but curiosity won him out, he took a fleeting glance only to see the judge had not gone anywhere, but now a newcomer stood by his side. An executioner armed with a whip.

"This is Odo," the judge grinned. "Everything you did to the gypsy, I will have performed onto you, do I make myself clear?"

Villon maintained his silence, but his shoulders trembled with anger.

"Tomorrow, you will be executed. I hope the time you spent here was consequential, Francois Villon."

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**[A/N]: You people are far too kind, I love receiving reviews *_*;; who doesn't?**

**Aguna: Yes, I do believe she could be charged for murder. You're making the wheels in my head turn :D**

**Elizabeth: Beautiful name. And thank you! Frances fell into my lap and I thought, "YAYUS!"**

**Guest(s): I wish you weren't so sneaky so I could coddle the mess out of you, and I thoroughly appreciate the kind words nonetheless!**

**Flagellation is a middle age torture involving flogging or whipping, commonly used against 'witches' to draw out confessions, I found it suitable for our poor gypsy. She never seems to catch a break :/**


	5. Chapter 5

Frollo could hear her agonizing screams from the other side of the cathedral. Her anguish bounced off the walls before sinking into his chest and wrapping an icy grip around his heart. Neither judge nor captain were allowed to see Esmeralda while she was tended to, for the archdeacon wouldn't allow it. They watched from a distance side by side as the nurses came and went; in their arms were beddings soiled with blood. When the doors opened, her cries spilled into the corridor where Frollo and Phoebus stood by, anxiously waiting for their chance to see her.

At some point during the night, the archdeacon came before the two men. Captain Phoebus was pacing while Frollo stared solemnly out a window with both arms crossed tightly over his chest.

The archdeacon expression was unhinged when he spoke. "She needs blood." A tremor slipped in his words when he spoke, sending a foreboding feeling into the judge and captain.

The men turned in unison at the sound of the archdeacon's voice. Both judge's and captain's features mirrored the same maladjust, discerning the most extreme of haplessness.

Frollo was the first to speak, "What?"

"She needs blood? How do you know?" Phoebus followed, slowing his pace to a still.

When he spoke, his voice quaked with forlorn. "She's dying." He looked downward to his robe, pulling at the material with his finger, displaying the crimson stains that coated his eloquent gown and hands. As if the men hadn't noticed it immediately.

Frollo turned from the window and said, "Show me the girl."

The chamber Esmeralda stayed in belonged to the servant's quarter. It was scantily furnished and the floor was bare. Frollo had never been to these parts of the cathedral, he ne'er had a reason for such. When he saw her draped across the bed, he yearned to scoop up the gypsy maiden into his arms and cart her away to his private chamber where she would be warm and comfortable among his opulence and care.

Sorrow crashed passed the threshold of the judge's callous approach when his eyes scanned over her sapped state. Her hair was matted and lackluster, the rich color of her skin had diminished, left in death's wake was a sallow complexion foreign to his eyes. The gypsy's cheek bones were prominent, adding years to her once youthful face. A wheezing sounds followed the rise and fall of her chest with assiduous resolve as she slept before him, a fragile thread balancing between life and death.

A figure across the room brought the judges attention away from his precious jewel. The man was tall as he was timeworn with a satchel opened wide on a table next to him. Small glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and a mustache peppered with gray twitched above a thin bottom lip.

"Good evening, Minister." He muttered with slight dipping of his head, "My name is Dr. Charles De l'Orme."

"It's a pleasure, doctor." Frollo replied, "I am Claude Frollo, the Minister of Justice."

De l'Orme smiled sincerely, "I know very well who you are, sir." He turned from the judge and began rummaging through the contents of his satchel. "I take it you are the donor for our poor girl here, correct?"

"Whatever is it that you need." Frollo replied. Heavy footfalls from the captain sounded as he approached the bed, he planted his hands onto the bedding and leaned over the sleeping gypsy. His eyes scoured her frame with concern, searching for any unnoted marrings.

"Very well then," the doctor retrieved a elastic ox ureter from his bag, and several crow quills. He tied to quills to the end of the tubing and pulled out a tourniquet, but when he turned towards the judge to proceed onward, he froze in place. "Who might you be?" The doctor asked as he eyed Captain Phoebus who was still watching over Esmeralda with disposition.

Phoebus didn't react to the question which cued the archdeacon reply for him, "That is the Captain of the Guard."

Phoebus pulled away from the gypsy girl and cleared his throat, "That I am, sir. Sorry, I'm just-," he returned his gaze to Esmeralda and grimaced. "I feel powerless."

"Well!" De l'Orme boomed with excitement. "Things just got better for the likes of all, including the gypsy."

The trio of men stared back with perplexity.

De l'Orme stared back with equal disconcertion. "Tell me boy, are you familiar with blood transfusions?"

Phoebus blinked. "I have seen it performed but never on myself." He thought of the time during wars and the medics along with it, wallowing in the muck and bracken as they tended to fatal wounds.

"Splendid!" The doctor stretched the rubber wide and snapped it loose, before deadpanning, "You've been promoted to the donor."

Now it was Frollo's turn to blink. "What of me?"

"Minister, a man of your caliber cannot risk the effects of a transfusion. This girl has lost quarts of blood, I need a someone young, someone vital. This procedure is going to knock even the strongest off his feet. I fear if we used you, you would be expended, and that we cannot afford." He marched across the room and eyed the armor encasing the captain. He reached out and thumped his fingers against the metal suggestively.

"Remove this, I need access to your arm." He chirped.

Phoebus quickly shed his armor, dropping it all to the floor in a heap. It clanked and thudded as he undressed down to his tunic, but instead of rolling up his sleeves, he peeled the entire garment off and slung it to the floor.

"Very well then." The doctor noted, "Please, have a seat. This will take awhile."

Frollo glowered within himself, eyeing the captain who exuded strength and ardor. Phoebus was a fitting name for the man, the sun god. His shoulders were broad and threaded with muscle. There were a few nicks and scars that adorned his body from past wars, but still did not mar his youth, and apparently the women liked the blemishes. Frollo lacked in the meaty build, he was also not a frail man. He had his own strengths, both physically and mentally. Albeit, those strengths were not enough to allow him such a bond with the beautiful dancer. The doctor cleaned at the ditch of Phoebus' elbow and then Esmeralda's, who was still under a sleeping spell. Frollo felt surely her body was surrendering to it in order to keep itself alive until it had the energy to heal.

Charles De l'Orme pressed the quill into Phoebus' flesh, using it as a needle to draw the blood forth. The crimson stream followed into the ureter leading up to a bag and collected there before it's slow descent into Esmeralda body through another tube, where another quill waited for distribution.

Frollo could longer watch as the captain fed his life into the gypsy maiden, a jealous frenzy churned inside of him as he cast his scowl towards the window. Morning had come during all the calamity and now the clouds had broken apart after blanketing Paris in a flawless cape of snow. As it began to rise, it's shine crept across the white-eclipsed landscape, glinting with sparkles of captured light along the way.

Frollo had not forgotten the execution he had promised. A poet like Villon would be glad to see it to be a beautiful day to die. No, if anything, he was counting down to the moment where he would seize the life from Francois Villon. His fingertips began to tingle as he pictured the event in his mind. He wanted Villon's eyes to bulge when the noose constricted around his neck, he wanted to see the veins engorge with blood, flushing his face with his lips pushing out from his mouth like a baboon. A sting in Frollo's palm brought him back. He looked down at his hands to see red crescent marks across his palm where his nails bit into his skin. He wiped away the pain like dust and continued to glare out of the stained window.

"Minister," he heard the archdeacon begin. He was well aware of the time.

"I know," Frollo's baritone voice replied. "I'm heading to the gallows now."

*l*ll*l*

Esmeralda's body was reluctant to wake but her brain had kicked started into gear when she realized she had no idea where she was. Her eyes scanned the room, darting to and fro as fear crept up her limbs like spiders during the darkness. She was about to start screaming until her flickering gaze found the Captain of the Guard only a few feet from her bedside. He was sleeping on a cot with his back towards the gypsy and without a shirt on. He appeared to be quite the heavy sleeper judging by the bone rattling snores he emitted.

Gingerly, she propped herself up with her hands.

Her arms immediately trembled under her weight until she could no longer hold herself up. She collapsed back onto the soft bed where she laid there for a moment while her thoughts arranged a way to escape, despite how exasperated she felt and the painful hunger that dwelled in her sunken belly.

Just as she ready to rise again, the door to the chamber eased open and a tall elderly man entered, shutting it quietly behind him. Once inside, he leaned over the captain, appearing almost proud and merry at the rise and fall of his breathing. He chuckled lightly at the snoring.

As soon as he turned back, Esmeralda met his eyes.

"Oh! Hello." He flashed her a brilliant smile that seemed genuine and then proceeded across the room. When he reached the window, he leaned close to peer down below. "I must say, I am quite elated to see the transfusion was a success." He pushed the small glasses on his nose upward while gazing outside.

"Where am I?" Esmeralda croaked.

Without turning from the window, he replied. "Notre Dame."

"How did I get here?"

"Well," he began, she felt that it might take quite an amount of detail to elaborate. "You got lost somewhere along the way, I suppose. Some bandits got ahold of you, did some terrible things." He turned from the window and clasped his hands together. " I took the liberty in cleaning out your wounds and applying stitches. You'll need someone to tend to them, I do not think your agile enough to change out the dressings yourself."

"How did I get here?" Esmeralda repeated with more distinction and resolve.

"Oh! Sorry, the judge's search party discovered you and brought you here."

"Judge…," Esmeralda pressed. She hoped he wouldn't say-

"Claude Frollo."

She sank into her pillow and stared up at the rafters in silence.

"Is this troubling news, miss?" The tall man inquired upon noticing her dejection.

"I wouldn't call it troubling," the gypsy quietly replied. "Foxed."

"Foxed?" The man echoed with curious tenor, "Were you intending to be captured? Are you at qualms with the Minister?"

"I have to get out of here," Esmeralda quickly decided. With all efforts, she hoisted herself up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Uh," the man begin with concern. "My dear, you are not well enough to leave the bed. You are far too weak."

Esmeralda ignored him and tested her strength by carefully weighing down on one foot. Her leg trembled slightly, but not nearly enough to thwart her intentions. She stood and the room took an unexpected shift. The walls turned into floor and ceiling, and blood rushed straight to her head. Her vision faded and almost gave out, but not before Esmeralda took a deep breath and staggered forward. Her hands met the closed door and blindly felt for the handle. She grasped it weakly and pulled it forward with what felt the entirety of her strength

Stumbling into the hall, Esmeralda kept her hand against the wall for balance. A few servants waited patiently on a bench outside of her bedroom, they began eyeing her precariously as she stumbled about. One approached her slowly, trying to redirect her into the chamber room, but she swatted them away.

"Don't touch me," she heaved. Esmeralda felt her forehead start to bead with sweat as she drunkenly meandered down the hall. The blood was roaring in her ears, and each breath hummed throughout her body until her feet began to prickle. She heard the voices behind her, telling her to sit down, stay put, go back to bed, all the things she should do, but didn't want to do. She needed out of the cathedral, back to the Court of Miracles where her friends would take care of her, where Clopin would tend to her wounds and Djali would keep her spirits high.

A thick black curtain was slowly etching away her vision as she staggered along, knocking chairs over and armored statues that came into her way. Her eyelids were growing heavier with every step and each breath became more arduous than the last. She rounded the corner and collapsed.

Her body braced for the impact, expecting a cold and concrete collision, but it never came. Esmeralda clutched at the fabric she felt brush against her face, fisting it tightly and pulling it closer. She leaned her head in, smelling the fragrance of old books and sweet wine before her body surrendered to sleep.

*l**l**l*

Villon had quite the audience. As an infamous knave who purloined across medieval France, along the way, he accrued a number of adversaries, and all were accompanied in the square. Frollo found that people were glad to see him go, and all the while, he recited his most promising sonnets, up until he hadn't the breath to continue.

That was Frollo's favorite part. "I'm sorry, Villon." He had politely jeered, "What did you say?" The crowd cackled and bawled with entertainment as the man's legs shook sporadically above the gallows foundation, until succumbing to death, where he stilled and everyone went home.

The poets back was remarkably destroyed by the flagellation he received. The executioner had a full report to the conditions the gypsy maiden had endured and Frollo made it a point to ensure he had a taste of his own inflictions. Several of his toenails were removed and small pockets of blistered flesh riddled his pudgy body from induced burns. Albeit, no one bit the poet or molested him, Frollo saw to it where it lacked, other needs were met. However _colorful_ that turned out.

Now his body would hang in the square for weeks worth while the crows pecked at his flesh and eyes. In the meantime, Frollo need to return to the cathedral to check up on the gypsy, as well as the captain who decommissioned himself due to exhaustion. The fierce ill will the judge had developed from watching the transfusion had finally diminished, slow and relieful. Frollo compared it to watching the life seep from Villon's bulging eyes. Frollo felt much better now that he had left the room in it's duration.

He'd come to the conclusion that giving her blood would be a challenge for them both. He simply could not supply the amount she needed and he had accepted this. This only meant to the judge that for any further wishes and desires, he would surely be the one to grant them. If blood could not be what brought them together, there were always other alternatives to be met.

He had made it to the second floor when he heard the servants clamoring over an issue. Frollo was in no rush to see what the fuss was for, until the gypsy maiden stumbled around the corner and collided into him. His arms went out and enveloped around her as her knees gave. Even in the dim lighting, he noticed the sweat across her skin. She pawed at his robe as she leaned into him, pulling down on the fabric until finally incapacitating, her laborious breathing slowly evened out. Her head dropped back as he scooped her and walked about to her room. A scowl shadowed his features when he came around the corner. The servants who were incessantly fussing at the end by her doorway, upon his discovery, turned their words into hissing insults, attempting to shut one another up. From the doorway, De l'Orme popped his head out and looked around.

"Ah, Minister!" The doctor took a large stride from the room into the hall. "I see you found the girl."

Frollo brushed passed him and entered the room. He saw Phoebus sitting up from his cot and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Hey, whoa." He started when he saw Frollo carrying Esmeralda to her bed. He settled her carefully into the sheets and began rearranging the covers around her.

Phoebus was at his side within seconds, looking over the gypsy maiden. His sudden proximity unnerved the judge, as did his fondness for the girl. Frollo wanted to swat him away or have him at least return to the cot.

"I thought the two of you were taking care of the girl at my stead." Frollo muttered with disdain, he brought the sheets up to her chest and laid her arms on either side.

Phoebus stammered as he tossed a look between the doctor and the judge. "I _just _woke up," he explained.

"It was my doing, Your Honor." De l'Orme said to the two men eyeing Esmeralda.

They turned together and glowered him with equal scrutiny.

"What?" He confessed. "I knew she wouldn't make it very far, I told her to stay put, but she seemed so determined. I sent the servants to follow her." All eyes swiveled to the pair of servants outside the doorway. They're faces paled in unison before the two casually split into different directions.

"They did not." Frollo growled, "She nearly made it two the stairs before falling into my arms when I rounded the corner."

"Good timing, sir." Phoebus said. He reached down and rearranged her hands so they laid on top of her abdomen.

Frollo's jaw clenched. He swallowed the cutting remark before it made itself known and turned away from the bedside. "You two," he barked towards the doorway, "Bring me some soup for the girl."

The servants vanished from his sight, leaving the three men alone with the girl. Frollo pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the blooming headache.

"Captain, you may take your leave." The judge said coolly.

"Aye, sir." Phoebus muttered. He began collecting his clothing and armor, slow to don on the gear from weariness. Frollo was not going to mention all the tasks he needed to be tending to, and hoped he would simply retire to his homestead and recover. What ever was necessary for him to have some quality time with the gypsy girl, Frollo would consider it.

"I'm going on my own outing, as well," said the doctor as he snatched his hat up. "I'll be back before dusk."

The two men made their leave, one more reluctant than the other, and left Frollo to wait on the servants who were probably arriving to the kitchen now. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back facing the gypsy, and collected himself. He hadn't slept yet and now the hours were taking their toll. His shoulders sagged as he ran a slender hand through his graying hair. He considered returning to the Palace of Justice, but he feared she would wake and attempt to rush into the wintery day again. The gypsy girl appeared to have an insatiable death wish. Frollo stood and moved over to the cot. He sat down and leaned against the wall and continued going over the past events. He was changing, every hour that passed created more of a distinction between who he was, and who he was becoming. Was he ready to turn over a new leaf? He had protected the city of Paris for decades, _could_ he change? He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, clearing the muddle havoc tossing around in his head.

Just to wake suddenly at what felt like mere seconds.

The sound of rattling roused him from his unexpected slumber and sent his heart hammering with disorientation. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon, setting the sky in a orange blaze until cooled by the night's violet shades.

Esmeralda was trying to sit up in her bed and eat when Frollo's dark eyes honed in on the source of disturbance. Her arms were trembling as she held the bowl and spoon in her hands. Her brow was furrowed as she focused on the simplest of task; feeding herself. Every time she dipped the spoon into the contents of the bowl, the porcelain clattered against one another as she painstakingly scooped up a morsel and carefully aimed it for her mouth. Frollo fluidly rose to his feet and went at her bedside. She didn't protest when he carefully took the bowl and spoon from her, and etched closer. The two remained silent as he fed her and she ate from his hand eagerly. Before long, their sides were touching as she scooted closer towards the bowl, eventually she leaned against him for support while she ate. After she polished off the soup, Frollo fed her bits of bread, keeping the bites small and soft and followed it with water which she drank heavily from. As they cared for each other, because Frollo needed this as much as she needed the food, Esmeralda began getting drowsy again. Her hand went up when he brought another piece of bread forth, she pressed her face into the folds of his robe and closed her eyes. The judge took the liberty and pulled her closer. He kicked off his boots and brought his legs up, and laid back. She was already fast asleep before her head touched the pillow, sated from the hunger that woke her and ready to recharge her body until next feed. The anticipation for that almost overwhelmed Frollo. He had never felt so elated, not even during his inauguration as Minister of Justice.

The two sank into the pillows and blankets, pressed into one another. Her warmth encompassed him and set an inferno to the once dwindling flame inside. He closed his eyes and drifted asleep.

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**[A/N]:**** You guys. You guys are too kind. Where do I begin? Thank you, thank you for reading this. Sorry I didn't update sooner, I'm usually pretty fast with updates, and I, myself, don't like waiting a terribly long to for an update by other AMAZING authors. I can't believe how talented you people are, where have you been my whole life? Also, this chapter can be viewed as the calm before the storm. So don't mistaken this sweet note to the conclusion of an epic symphony, at an attempt at one .-.**

**Elizabeth : You think so! Oh, goodness I'm glad you enjoy it so far. I love hearing from you.**

**High I'm Nomaris : Well I hope I can satiate your HoND needs! We all have them, I don't care what they say! And I thoroughly appreciate you taking the time to read this take on HoND :'D**

**Aguna : Right? I like it when Frollo gets all angsty and mad. Especially if I can make him do things we're all thinking ;]**

**Guest(s): Great to know I'm keeping you drawn in. Don't abandon me now, love!**

**Charles De l'Orme was not a doctor during the 15th century, but during the later Middle Ages from early 1600s to mid 1600s. I shoved him into this century where he rightfully doesn't belong because he is famous for creating Medico della Peste, those creepy awesome plague mask during the Black Plague epidemic. They say he was an outgoing and quite witty gentleman, so I tried to make him perky and humorous. Tried, let me know if I destroyed that. The mask were first used in Paris, and guess where we are! So why not? BESIDES THEY ARE SO COOL LOOKING. **


	6. Chapter 6

Phoebus de Chateaupers, Captain of the Kings Guard, French Knight of the Kings Army, and superior officer to the Minister of Justice, was smitten. In fact, he was so besotted with the beautiful Esmeralda that it he wanted to shout aloud when the doctor designated him as the donor. What an kindred feeling it was to watch the blood flow from his vein into hers. His heart soared unexpectedly with delight, until of course, he got tired and laid down for a nap afterward.

Now he remained in the comfort of his own chamber, finally leaving the cathedral, even though he preferred to remain bedside with Esmeralda. One thing was evident, she had not left his thoughts. When he arrived to his private home, a charming cottage on the outskirts of town, she was the last thing he thought of when he drifted to sleep. Naturally, she was the first thing that came into mind when he awoke. Phoebus could not bare another second apart, he wanted to watch her blossoming beauty return, flourishing and eclipsing the sick pallor that the dead poet Villon subjected her to. Albeit, he hadn't witnessed the execution himself, he had heard plenty about the event, and wished he could have made it to see for himself, or at least know surely he was dead for that matter. Moreover, Phoebus wanted to be there when she finally recovered. Perhaps he yearned to creating a budding between he and the gypsy. So long as the stifling judge didn't interfere.

Phoebus climbed out of bed and donned a clean uniform. He used a mint paste and cloth to clean his teeth, gathered his sword and armor and returned to Notre Dame.

Upon arriving, he spent a handful of moments catching up with his guards and finding the whereabouts of other ranks of authority. When their discussion closed, he mounted the marble stairs of the cathedral and beelined for Esmeralda's room.

Once there, he grasped the knob, twisted it back and slowly pushed the door inward. It made no sound of protest as he entered, but when he proceeded and his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, the air in the room went out.

Upon the bed, Phoebus saw the minister but in his arms was the beloved Esmeralda, fast asleep. Phoebus was taken aback by the sight, almost stumbling from surprise. For an instance, he feared they were undressed and had partook in love-making, this caused his stomach to twist uncomfortably, but the more he looked over the slumbering pair, the more evident it became that he had just fallen asleep next to her; with or without her knowledge.

Regardless, the sight did not sit well with the captain. His blonde brow knitted with concern and…,something else. Could it be jealousy, as well?

Phoebus left just as quickly and quietly as he arrived. He shut the door and pressed his back against the frame. He paused, digesting what he witnessed. Wiping a hand down his face, hoping to clean away the incertitude that swallowed him, he looked inward. He was the young vibrant one, the handsome, the strong knight who fought battles, drank copious amounts of wine, and swept women of their feet like he swept across landscapes during war. Still, his heart hammered rabidly in his chest like a wild animal, cornered and frantic, looking for the means of explanation. Whatever could sedate this tumultuous array of emotions, he needed to find it.

But there was hope. The gypsy maiden was still in recovery. Perhaps she could still feel for Phoebus in the same ways he began to feel for her? There was plenty of time to court the beautiful dancer. He had to be patient.

In the midst of his mental castigating, his stomach gurgled, reminding him he had yet to eat. He pushed off the door and proceeded to the kitchen. Surely there would be food and wine available for the Captain of the Guard, maybe even some company to fill the void that had sucked him dry.

*l**l**l*

When Esmeralda came to for the countless time, she was warm.

Far too warm, in fact, the back of her neck was damp from sweat, so was the top of her forehead and along her temples.

A fragrance she felt familiar with wafted in her nose. Flaring her nostrils, her eyes snapped open. At first, the gypsy was slightly disorientated. She knew her whereabouts, but couldn't quite understand how the sheets changed from white to black, or from cotton to a thick velvet material. This would answer why she was so heated upon waking. Her hands pushed out while her body followed suit, stretching all limbs to their maximum. She gingerly twisted her upper body to stretch and noticed immediately that someone way laying next to her.

Her head lifted from alarm, clutching at the sheets around her for modesty. Blinking against the darkness, her eyes gradually made out the features of none other the judge. A gasp escaped her lips before her hand could catch it. Warily, Esmeralda lifted herself up into a sitting position. She tried recalling how he got there. Did she have anything to do with it? Did they sleep together and she not remember? Her heart kicked started while her hand quickly slipped under the sheets and slid passed her undergarments. There wasn't an excessive amount of moisture as far as she could tell, but in the darkness, she couldn't distinguish if her maiden hood was taken or not just by looking at her fingertips. Gingerly, she etched towards the edge of the bed until her feet hovered above the hard floor. Already her heart thrummed, as if moving alone exerted more strength than she could offer. Esmeralda ran her fingers through the tresses of her raven hair. Her locks were stiff and dry, matted even, in some areas.

She needed a bath.

The room had it's own fireplace, but she wasn't sure if there was a wash closet, and if so, it was just matter of finding a kettle to boil the water in. Albeit, Esmeralda was not all too sure she could carry the hot water to the bathtub and pour it herself, still she must try.

Lowering her feet to the floor, her legs gave scant protest as she settled her weight and stood. Her muscles still ached, but she had made quite an improvement in comparison to before where just standing made the room swim. Fortunately, the earth did not topple and spin off it's axis this time. Esmeralda's knees began to tremble as she readied herself for the first step. All toes were splayed out as if they alone could keep the gypsy from crashing to the floor.

She lifted her foot ever so slightly, and her remaining leg began to shake considerably. She planted the foot back onto the cold floor.

Just one step, she thought.

Her body apprehended against taking a step, too wary from last encounter with the floor. Frustration became to swell uncomfortably in her chest. All she wanted was to bathe and something to eat. All she wanted was the cruelty subject to Quasimodo to stop, all she wanted was freedom to return to the Court of Miracles, and last but not least, all she wanted was to know why? Why did they whip her? Starve her? Slather their immoral desires against her flesh and soul? Why was the world being so cruel to her? What had she done?

Somewhere in the room, a whimper sounded. Eventually, the small noises grew to breathy cries as Esmeralda fought against the onslaught of despair that seized her. The cries came like crashing waves that seeped into her center, burning her senses, and wracking her petite frame. She hadn't heard the judge awaken, nor did she notice that he was watching her. Her body swayed back before she fell to her knees, but he was there to catch her, he was there to pull her close, and hold her.

Once in his arms, the gypsy maiden liberated her distress. In Frollo's embrace, she wept for her tarnished soul, the lashes still healing upon her back, the dignity that diminished those nights under Villon's watch. During her tumultuous fit, Esmeralda felt his fingers brush away the hair that clung to her cheeks and face. He began smoothing back her hair as he held her close, but out of anger Esmeralda shoved away from him. He fell onto his backside, stunned by her response, but even this did not stave his desire to bring her close and comfort her.

She allowed him to gather her into his arms again until they were chest to chest. Esmeralda pressed her face into the folds of his robe until the tears ran dry. Frollo was sitting with his legs crossed and the gypsy maiden nestled into the dip of his lap with her legs draped over his thigh. He pulled her closer before speaking.

"Forgive me," he whispered into her hair when the sobs finally died down and only her panting breaths filled the silence. It felt as if an eternity had passed before the two words manifested themselves and came to life through his voice.

"No," she croaked against his chest.

"Please, I am not au fait with compassion" Frollo was utterly bewildered by the sudden ardor that squeezed the air from his lungs. It was foreign to a man with such calloused apathy for those lesser than he, and he did his best to embrace the strange affinity. His mind began grasping for his next words, sifting through the disdain and insatiable drive for justice that he claimed to uphold. Something. Anything to connect the burning bridge between he and the beautiful dancer.

"I have so much to learn, teach me." He managed, finally.

Through her swollen eyes, Esmeralda glared at him. Her lips were flushed and pouted and it made it difficult for Frollo not to allow his eyes to wander upon them, to lean in, and share the same breath.

"What made you so cruel?" Was the gypsy's reply.

Frollo opened his mouth to respond, but repudiated. He chewed over his next choice of words, having a woman in his arms proved to be distracting.

"I have no excuse or justification for my behavior, dear girl." Frollo managed with his grave voice. A moment of silence passed between the maiden and the judge before she spoke again.

"Esmeralda," she whispered. "My name is Esmeralda."

After Esmeralda considered her spell to have ended, the two got to their feet, with the help of Frollo, of course. She held tightly onto his hands without realizing her grip, but the judge showed little to no concern for himself. Any contact with the gypsy was magnificent and he would ride the current for as long as the ocean would allow.

"Esmeralda," his voice whispered, tasting her name upon his tongue in the darkness. If he had been debloused, she would have seen the chills that raced over his shoulders just by uttering her name.

He watched her raise her head in the shadows and look towards him. Mere recognition on her behalf almost brought him to his knees. He collected himself by clearing his throat.

"What can I do to prove to you I mean no harm?"

"A bath would be nice."

*l**l**l*

Several days had passed between the judge and Esmeralda. She was warming up to him slowly, and where the bond was strengthening there, other ties became feeble and weary.

Captain Phoebus was now standing next to the Minister of Justice with a stoic and silent disposition. Only speaking to the minister when he was spoken to, and with the most curt of responses. Something was bothering the Captain of the Guard, not that Judge Frollo cared about what was troubling the sun god, but it was his job to ensure the captain was at his wits and thus, fit for duty.

"May I ask what your reason is for such crass behavior?" The judge began, steepling his fingers with a priggish grin. He had not a clue, but didn't want to captain to read into that.

"No reason, sir." Phoebus replied offhandedly, refusing to look towards the judge. "Duty calls for bearing, Your Honor."

The two men of high caliber were standing in the town square, overlooking the mass of the shifting channels of foot traffic. King Louis XII happened to be crusading across France after former King Charles VIII became deceased, but being Duke of Orleans at the time, King Louis knew it was paramount to display his new royal anointing across the country he would now lead, and with gallant endeavors.

There was to be a festival in his honor while he trekked across the countryside of his newborn nation, so the town square turned into an organized chaos. Tables were being lined up and chairs were being set in a mannerly fashion, while women set out dishes and silverware. Everyone seemed to have a part while the feast was being prepared.

Even in the betwixt and between of havoc and splendor, Frollo longed to wander back into the cathedral and tend to his gypsy maiden. Seeing as his captain was in a bunch, he left without a farewell and headed for Notre Dame on foot.

When he got to the second floor, he paused at her door, and rapped his knuckles softly against it's surface.

It yanked open, and a pair of dull brown eyes peered back at him. "Miss Esmeralda is taking a bath right the moment, could you come back later, sir?" The miscreant reported.

Frollo rolled his eyes and pushed passed the small servant and into the chamber.

"Minister Frollo!" She squeaked, stumbling back to avoid the doorway's path.

"Leave us." He muttered, removing his chaperon hat and settling it onto a nearby dresser.

Her eyes darted from him to the washroom's doorway where he could hear Esmeralda softly humming from within. She seemed hesitant, the servant, to leave. Frollo couldn't help the glare that hardened his already inured eyes. She swallowed thickly, giving a curt nod, and hurriedly moved for the door. He waited for the sound of the door to shut before crossing the chamber towards the washroom's entrance. It was cracked, leaving a sliver of space for him to peek through, but the judge stopped himself from prying. Instead, he knocked on the frame and waited.

"Who is it?" Her voice rang out.

"It is I." Judge Frollo replied, idly looking at his fingers.

The door swung open and there stood Esmeralda.

*l**l*

"Are you just going to stand there?" Esmeralda asked with a coy smile. She'd finally separated the disdain she had for Frollo after seeing him care for her, and tend to all her needs, even the frivolous kind. Esmeralda had developed a series of night terrors that would freeze her in fear, but that didn't stop her lungs from expanding to release a blood curdling scream. Every time she experienced an episode, Frollo was there to wake her, to soothe her hysteria, and to make her bring to reality. She was growing fond of the minister day by day, and he to her. She could tell when his guard was down for a smile would tug at the corner of his taut lips. Esmeralda had only heard him laugh once and the baritone of it surprised her mentally and physically. Her body responded in an unusual manner that left her questioning her maidenhood.

Now he was standing before her with an awe stricken face and a stiff poise. He mouth was gaped and his eyes couldn't pick something to focus on. First it was her cleavage that teased his eyes before disappearing behind her bathrobe, then to her bare shoulders still moistened from her hot bath, until settling onto her lips before he squeezed his eyes shut, and turned his head away.

"M-my dear, where are your clothes?"

Esmeralda dropped her arms to her side and scoffed. "I wasn't expecting man to arrive at a moments notice. Besides, I need another pair of hands." She moved away from the door, returning to the mirror on the other side, beside it was an aged wooden table. Upon the table, Esmeralda had sat the bottle of helichrysum oil given to her by Charles De l'Orme, along with another small bottle of lavender oil. Between the two, the servants would apply the mixture along Esmeralda's back which aided in healing and dulling the pain inflicted from the lashes. She couldn't see herself how far along the wounds were to healing, but her back certainly felt better day by day.

"Of course," the judge replied, following her into the washroom. His eyes roamed the space while he tried to hide the haughtiness that exuded from him. He was so drawn to the state of the room, he hadn't noticed Esmeralda had lowered the robe further down her back while maintaining her front side concealed.

She cleared her throat and watched him through the reflection of the mirror. He continued to inspect the condition of the room while she waited.

"Remind me why they put you in here…," he reached out with his pointer finger and ran it along the dresser's top, he observed the dust collected there before wiping it on a nearby cloth. When he decided averting his gaze back at the gypsy, he met her eyes immediately whilst the air diminished from his lungs a second time.

"Esmeralda!" His exclaimed with shock. He stumbled back and brought a hand upward to shield his eyes and offer her decency.

She laughed as she looked over her shoulder at him, " I wouldn't have had to ask if you didn't scare off my helper." Redirecting her gaze to the mirror, she twisted to the side and tried eyeing the scars herself. "Is it really that bad?"

He sighed, still refusing to look at her. "It's inappropriate for you to be standing there scantily clad before any man who is not your husband."

"Come," she cooed. Reaching out, she pulled his hand away from his face and lured him towards the mirror. "It's just a little ointment. I promise it won't take long." She smiled and he swallowed.

Turning back towards the mirror, she lowered her robe again, stopping just before exposing her breasts. She removed the tops to both oils and brushed all of her hair to one shoulder.

Frollo cleared his throat and dabbed one finger into the lavender oil. Esmeralda watched as his brows furrowed with concentration while he caressed her scars fastidiously. His touches were light and careful, moving methodically down her back. She could sense he was having trouble collecting his wits, the quick rise and fall of his shoulders, the shortening of his breath; however hard he tried to hide it, she still noticed. While working the sweet oils into her caramel skin, his eyes flickered up towards the mirror. Their eyes met and he noted the smirk along her face.

He straight-faced and ceased rubbing the ointment in. "What?"

Her smile only stretched further across her face.

He wasn't having it. "What is it, Esmeralda?" He dropped his arm and glowered. She seemed to take amusement in befuddling him, but now the fondness had taken a sharp turn into something else entirely. Reaching her hand back, she found his and drew him close. His front side met her back within a step.

He knew forthwith what she wanted, and he heeded to her needs. Frollo brought his arms around her and pulled her closer while lowering his head. His lips found the curve of her neck and upon contact, chills were raced across her body and her head dropped back against his shoulder. A moan parted Esmeralda's lips as Frollo planted soft and slow kisses along her jawline, down her neck, and across her bare shoulders. Frollo brought one hand through her thick black hair, while the other slipped beneath her arm, and passed the fabric of her robe. Esmeralda's hands were clutching at his robes, pulling him into her. She began working her hips against his, and felt the firm length press into her back, even beneath all his garments. The judge's affection grew heated and firm, raking his teeth across her flesh, while his hand kneaded her breast. Between the two, the desire became tangible. Esmeralda continued to grind her bottom against his member as his hands scoured the soft curves of her body.

She was about to turn and let to robe spill to the floor when something shifted in the reflection of the mirror. The lull to her eyes vanished just as her head rose.

Behind them, in the doorway, was Captain Phoebus with King Louis XII in tow.

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**[A/N] OH MAN. WOT. OMG. SO CLOSE.**

**ChristineFrollophile: uhmahgosh. You're here? You're actually here, reading MY STUFF? *blushblushblushfaint* I can't hold a candle up to thee! But oh man, your kindness is very appreciated. I only hope I don't disappoint!**

**Elizabeth : I'm excited too, and I know what's going to happen. Klsdkjflakdsjflasek.**

**Aguna : You know, I was watching HoND yesterday because I get inspiration, obviously. FROLLO IS NOT THAT FRAIL. IN FACT, BRO'S GOT SOME THIGHS. I noticed it when he was on that massive black horse. I bet he has a juicy butt too *_*;; don't worry, I will DEFINITELY PUT THOSE THUNDERLUCIOUS THIGHS somewhere!**

**Guest(s): I had to do some research on the blood transfusion to see if they even did those practices back then, and they did! We've come a long way, though, thankfully. Ox ureter? Gross. Whatever that is.**

I love you guys.


	7. Chapter 7

King Louis XII had quite the scorn for gypsies beforehand. He was under the assumption that the minister had it all under control, but in case he hadn't, Louis had order the bailiff of Rouen to chase all gypsies across the frontier and out of the country. The order was established and already set in motion before his arrival to Paris that morning. Unbeknownst to him, the Minister of Justice was withholding his very own gypsy whore in the cathedral, under God's watchful eye, nonetheless.

"Beyond the pale!" King Louis gasped, clutching at the captain of the guards armored shoulder. He, too, appeared in a state of alarm. Before them, the Minister of Justice Claude Frollo was in a fit of heavy petting between he and a gypsy woman. Their faces marred with desire and the heifer was barely clad! Her onyx hair was damp from Lord know's what while gyrating in the arms of the King's minister.

Upon being discovered, the two quickly chasmed. The woman clutched madly at her robe as she gasped, gathering it close to her neck as she attempted to conceal herself.

But King Louis had seen enough.

He shoved the Captain aside, and marched into the washroom. The judge's hair was mussed and his face was a rosy glow, most likely from the weakness he offered the gypsy. Maybe she even cast a spell on the poor fool.

Yanking the minister by the sleeve, King Louis drug him out of the washroom and slammed the door.

*l**l**l*

Esmeralda was mortified, along with that she was dumbfounded. She recognized the King at once, and this fact was detrimental to her, as well as her people hiding within the city. The look on either of their face made her own burn with embarrassment while fear chased at it's heels.

That wasn't the only thing on fire.

Outside of the washroom, the voices of the three men began to rise. Here and there, Esmeralda could hear Frollo's grave voice trying to reason and remain collected, despite all the shouting and clamor.

Something was thrown at the wall near the door, startling Esmeralda. She scampered back while she gathered the robe around her tightly. Frantically looking around, she grabbed the dress the servants had set aside from her and hastily slipped into it.

A pair of slippers appeared after Esmeralda had slipped into the dress, having been tucked beneath the folds of the gown. As the shouts grew an octave or two, so did the panic emerging within. A hard thud quaked the door frame, followed by the sound of scuffling and more clamoring ensued. What ever was transpiring on the other side of the door was about to take it into the small washroom with Esmeralda, and she wanted to prevent that at all cost.

She knew she could run faster without the slippers, but spring was still weeks away. Esmeralda would have to fight the winter cold bare foot, but she needed out of the cathedral forthwith. Just as she moved towards the door, it threw open, sending the over embellished king face first. Frollo stumbled back looking red in the face and his hair was disheveled, nearly crashing to the floor alongside the King.

Esmeralda reacted quickly.

She sprang passed the trio, ducking beneath Phoebus's sweeping arms as he lunged for her. Spilling out in the hall, Esmeralda went down the path at a dead sprint. The thundering footfalls of the captain pursuing her alongside the grinding clatter of his armor, filled the corridor and bounced of the walls. She pushed down the stairs three at a time, nearly losing her foots near the end. Stumbling forward, she righted herself and tore down the aisle of pews.

"Esmeralda!" The captain shouted as he chased her, shoving and throwing the pews from his path. "Stop at once!"

Her bare feet ate the distance towards the great doors of Notre Dame, until her hands were scrambling to grab the handles and pull them open.

She felt Phoebus' hard armor slam against her, pinning her body to the cold entrance of the cathedral. She twisted around and shoved at him, but he grasped her wrist and squeezed.

The gypsy screamed. Her voice rang out among the saints and cherubs, but their willing eyes didn't not save her, nor were there servants, monks, or priest to aid in her distress. Everyone was helping prepare the festival outside.

"What were you thinking!" He shouted in her face. He took her by the shoulders and slammed her against the door. Fury shadowed his sunkissed face and flushed it with color. In his eyes was something Esmeralda could not put a name to, something foreign and hideous.

"Let. Me. Go!" She whipped her arms back, trying to loosen his hold.

"What do you see in him!" He snarled in her face, this time taking Esmeralda by the shoulders and shaking her. His grip was tight and painful, she squirmed in his hold, but he had her in place between him and the door with little room to move. He shoved her against the surface a second time, the pain from her healing lashing began to sting.

"Answer me! Are you mad!" He gnashed his teeth and then threw his fist against the surface beside her head. "What is it!" He shook with jealousy before her, the tip of his blonde hair had become darker tendrils, collecting sweat. "Is it power? I have power!" His hands shot up and took her face firmly into his hold. It was startling for her, having such a volatile man invading her personal space. Just then he crushed his lips to hers, pressing her own flesh harshly against her teeth. She shrieked as she flailed her body against his and the door, struggling to yank away.

Was she really witnessing this? Had she ever seen such a level of jealousy? Even the most sinister of men she had encountered during her younger years, not one advanced her with such passion. It was not flattering, it was not romantic.

He pulled away from this stolen kiss, panting heavily and forced her to look at him.

"What is it?" He breathed, licking his lips. His blue eyes, the same eyes she admired once before, became formidable as he stared deep into her sage-colored glare.

Captain Phoebus was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and she hadn't seen it until now. Not only was this out of character, she half-expected this behavior to be of Frollo's origin.

His eyes followed down to her mouth, which trembled, too frightened to utter a single word. Red and swollen from his aggression. Then they lowered towards her chest. With his other hand, he pressed his palm firmly against her sternum.

"Do you fear me, Esmeralda?" His fingers splayed out as he felt her rapid heartbeat.

Esmeralda's breath hitched with trepidation. She felt there was no right or wrong answer according to Phoebus. "Yes," but she answered, anyway.

She knew what was next, the impeding step that would send her memory crashing back to the camp Villon held her in where the men pawed greedily at her flesh. Fear began to coil like striking snake in her throat, she swallowed it down and held fast.

"I would never hurt you." His words softened in an attempt to seem caring, but all as time progressed, and the longer he touched her, the more her skin began to crawl. She wanted out and free from this snake.

Her green eyes began to sting with tears as she looked up towards the mosaic window high above the altar. "Please," she heard her voice say. "Just let me go."

A guttural sound came from deep within Phoebus' chest, a hearty laugh at her plea. "Esmeralda," he purred, pressing his mouth to her jawline. He hissed a breath, running the tip of his nose along towards her ear and settling in the thick tresses of her black hair where he took another deep breath. He moaned softly before asking, "Care to strike a deal, gypsy?"

Esmeralda jerked away from him. She wanted to vomit, scream, claw his eyes out; whatever just to get him off and away from her. "What do you want?" She growled with clenched teeth. She leaned her body away and turned her head from Phoebus until he was completely out of her sight.

He stepped forward, pinning her body against the door with his. "I can grant you protection, gypsy." With his hands, he forced Esmeralda to look at up at him. Refusing at first, he waited until she brought her gaze upon his before speaking again. "You might not know it now, but I can be the man you need. The judge is a celibate man, who knows not his way around a woman."

Esmeralda fought the snarl that tugged at her lip. "You think a woman only wants a good bedding?" The hand still planted firmly against her chest wavered, etching slowly towards the mound of her breast.

"Let me show you." He whispered.

**[A/N] Phew. I'm back guys, sorry for the delay. I didn't bring my laptop after all. But I had a great time, and ate waaaaaaaaaay too much food. My goodness, I ate good. But anyway, thank you all for your patience, and thus, we shall continue this storm. Love you bros.**


	8. Chapter 8

Captain Phoebus felt like he might vomit.

He had his knees pressed to the cold stone floor bent forward, while he hands grappled gingerly around his loins. The pain vibrated through his body before ricocheting back to the pit of his stomach where it churned with discomfort. He was hunkered over when the King began his rapid descent from the stairs. He heard the soft pitter padding of the man's shoes.

"Where is she, Captain?" He growled, Phoebus remained in place, too sick to speak for fear he would lost control of his stomach. When the king's feet came into his peripheral view, he couldn't ignore him any longer.

Phoebus coughed and looked up at the king with a squinting and wounded look. "She got a way, Your Highness," he wheezed.

"What!" The king spat. He propped a hand on hip and pressed the other over his taut mouth while he began to pace about the cathedral. He slowed to a still and respired heavily. "Bailiff of Rouen was ordered to expedite the gypsy vermin out of my country. Why are they still here in Paris!" His voice rose to a trembling clamor while his face went red with toil before his words were cut out of shortness of breath.

Captain Phoebus still resided on the floor of the church, while he fought the urge to vomit all over himself, in front of the king nonetheless, he managed these words. "She claimed sanctuary before fleeing into the square, sir. There was nothing I can do." The lie was as graceful as he could manage. He'd rather have the king think the gypsy escaped because of negligence, rather than the actual occurrences.

He tried to kiss and woo the maiden, instead, he received a swift kick in the manhood.

The king's face twisted with disdain. "What an idiot!" He breathed. "Only a gypsy would claim sanctuary inside a cathedral, only to run out where it is no longer valid." He rubbed his large nose in a pinching manner before quickly approaching the vast front doors of Notre Dame.

They were still ajar from Esmeralda's escape so the king had only to peer out into the square. When he looked back to the Captain, he had carefully gotten to his feet. Still, his hands remained near the impact zone warily.

"Find her, Captain." His eyes diverted to the stop of the stairs, narrowing with disgust at what his eyes discovered.

Phoebus followed his line of sight and noted the judge making a slow descent. Still collected and stoic, despite having come into a strife with the king, himself.

"You," the king growled with enough malice to make Phoebus perk a brow. He jutted a firm finger towards the judge and hissed. "You dare cross your king?"

"I did no such thing." The judge replied coolly. He folded his hands together and remained a top of the stairs. "If it too bold of me, I believe you attacked me. I have no qualms with you, Your Majesty."

"Do you play me for a fool, Minister?" The king continued. "Or are you unaware of the regulations for her kind?"

"What were those regulations again, sire?" Frollo coaxed carefully.

"No gypsies in my country!" He spat, once again, turning a beet red across the face.

"Oh, that's right." Frollo quipped. He descended the stairs until reaching the bottom floor. Maintaining a slender hand on the banister, the other pressed poignantly against his chest. "Your Highness, you know me." Frollo insisted. "I have a pact with God. I would never jeopardize this unity. That would be blasphemy. Believe me when I tell you, I am a man of my word and my word is God."

"Indeed." The king concluded, his temper slowly came to a dwindling flame. "Please excuse my behavior, Minister. I let my anger get the best of me, I reacted out of context. I thought I saw a man and a woman on the brink of ardency, possibly more." There was a subtle sarcasm to the king's response.

"The gypsy is under the protection of the church. Unfortunately, the rodent ran into the cathedral immediately after insulting me before the citizens of Paris." A simper came across the judges faces that only Phoebus seemed to notice. He decided to remain silent during the discussion. It appeared the judge was playing the king a fool. He had no intentions of exposing the actual occurrence, for he just did the same.

All for the sake of a gypsy maiden.

"Very well," the king sighed. He pressed a palm to his forehead. "I want a warrant for that woman's arrest. She's no longer in the cathedral, track her down and get her out of my country."

Esmeralda had made it.

Finally.

She stumbled down the steps of the catacombs and ran blindly through the darkness. Having taken this path enough times to map out when to turn, duck, jump and stop, Esmeralda came bursting through the last remaining corridors before a figure stepped out of the shadows, directly in her path. Naturally, she crashed into their hard body, bounced off, and spilled to the ground.

"Wait!" She exclaimed, scrabbling back as they sauntered towards her. "Stop, it's me!"

They bent forward, grabbing her by the delicate collar of her cream colored gown, and lifted her off the dirt and bones.

"Release me!" She growled, kicking madly. "It's Esmeralda!"

"Esmeralda?" The voice echoed.

"Yes, you idiot!" She started whacking them across the head until finally they released their hold. She was dropped back to her feet where she dusted off the ash of bone and dirt.

"Esmeralda," they sighed. "We've been looking for you. Where have you gone?"

"Escort me the rest of the way, Nicolai. I don't want another buffoon yanking me around by my collar. This dress is quite nice."

Outside in the square, the festival turned in full swing.

While the instruments sang their organized melody, the judge, the captain, and the King of France, all sat in an uncomfortable silence over dinner. Across the table were arrays of meats, breads, vegetables and several types of wine Phoebus had never even heard of. And cheeses that came in all shapes, sizes and colors.

He tried not to gorge himself, but it proved to be difficult.

Besides, he thought, as he bit into the most succulent meat he had ever tasted, quick to chase it with a deep blood red wine, he figured he deserved it after the swift kick to the boys.

They still ached if he sat down too fast.

A man cleared his voice at the foot of the table causing Phoebus to cease chewing, even if his cheeks were stuffed to full capacity.

It was the King, Louis XII who idly ran the tip of his finger over the edge of his goblet. "Help me understand, Minister." He began with a purse of his lips. "I know you to be a man of God, and you word to be true, but I still cannot fathom a reason to which a man of your caliber would be in the private quarters of a stray gypsy. Please," he paused with amusement. "Explain."

The judge who hadn't touch a bit of his food, glanced towards the end of the table where the king sat patiently.

"Your Honor, I was merely waiting for the gypsy to make her way out of the cathedral. I was toying with the licentious miscreant. Working behind enemy lines, if you will." Frollo's face was a empty book as far as Phoebus could tell. He never saw the man laugh or smile, unless it was derived from malignant thoughts or actions, but even that was a subtle smirk. Here and now, with the heat directed by the king, the judge neither pallored or squirmed in his seat, seemingly unmoved and blase.

"Toying," the king echoed, still tracing the edge of his drink. "Why would the Minister of Justice find it suitable to 'toy' anything? Do you not have a city to be mindful of?"

"I do, sire." Frollo placed his hands into his lap.

The king sighed heavily. He snatched the cup from the table and drank deeply. When he sat it back down, the king dabbed his mouth with a napkin and tossed it onto his plate. King Louis sank into his seat and brought a hand to his mouth. Idly, he rubbed a finger across his bottom lip as he chided within himself.

"I've never seen such behavior displayed towards a gypsy. Are you not aware the whore was barely clad? Is that what you do in my city?" He met Frollo's gaze with his own. "Are you sleeping with these incestuous vermin?"

Frollo's appeared slightly perturbed. " I am not, Your Highness. As I aforementioned, I was only kindling to her to lure her outside of the cathedral where I could arrest her. I cannot detain her within the cathedral walls after she claimed sanctuary." Frollo's cold eyes diverted to Phoebus who quietly observed the two men. When their eyes met, he sat back into his chair.

The king respired again, evidently beside himself. "Minister, I think you have expended your power."

The air went out as the words filtered from his mouth. "I cannot have a Minister who condones the Romani. I want them out of my city and with the narrow-minded example I have already witnessed on your behalf, I gather you're no longer fit for duty as Minister of Justice." He stood and glanced over to Phoebus.

"Come." He curtly ordered. "You will be my acting judge until further notice."


	9. Chapter 9

**(The Cinematic Orchestra ; Arrival of the Birds ) - in case you would like to listen to the song I wrote this to. It's beautiful, the song that is.**

"Are you mad!" Clopin shouted as Esmeralda made her way towards the shadows of the catacombs. She had returned to the Court of Miracles in one piece, but that alone did not stop the legion of questions that flanked at all her sides. Djali, much to her delight, was thoroughly pleased to see Esmeralda. She spent most of her return on the ground, coddling her horned baby, while her friends surrounded her, bombarding her with questions she did not feeling like tending to.

Now Esmeralda was heading back to the surface to find the judge and make sure all things were well with the king. Being beneath the ground meant being cut off from news and other imperative means, she couldn't wait any longer, her insides were chewing her apart.

As she traipsed through the muddied pile of bones, bracken, and resting places, Clopin continued to patronize her. He had followed her deep into the catacombs, far enough to make Esmeralda believe he was coming with.

"King Louis is out there waiting for our kind to reveal themselves and you think you can just pop out from beneath the ground, no harm, no foul!" He bawled. "You're going to get yourself captured! Or worse!"

"Hush now, Clopin." Hissed Esmeralda, "That's why I'm going at nightfall. No one will see me."

"What is your plan, Esmeralda? Are you checking up on that pretentious monster? What has he ever done for us besides murder and torture?" Clopin's words were falling out faster than his lips could manage. Esmeralda spun around and grabbed him by his colorful collar.

"Listen carefully, Clopin." She snapped. "He may be the monster you claim, but he has helped me in ways you will not understand." She then shoved him away from her and turned back to her path towards the graveyard exit.

Clopin stilled as he watched her go. "He was merely collecting you, Esmeralda. Gathering the bounty on your head." He called out. She hadn't fully reciprocated enough information to Clopin during her time in Notre Dame. She failed to mention a number of incidents that probably would have effected many of the threats he had thrown her way, as well as cripple his prejudice view of Frollo alongside.

Esmeralda clenched her jaw as she mounted the neglected stairs that would lead her to the graveyard. "As you were, Clopin." She replied as she pushed the catacombs door open, allowing the winter's moon light spill onto the steps.

Upon Esmeralda's return, she retired from her evening gown Frollo had given to her, to a more suitable winter attire, consisting of black trousers, her favorite red colored tunic and snow boots she acquired during her trek through Russian a few years back. Despite the garments being heavier than what the gypsy was normally accustomed to, it staved off the biting cold and kept her feet warm. Alongside her adjusted wardrobe, she draped herself in a wool cloak, keeping the hood closely over her head so if wandering eyes did linger upon her, they hadn't much to go off from.

Clearing the fence, the concealed gypsy landed on the courtyard side of the Palace of Justice where she slinked into the gardening area where the shadows were abundant. Her heart raced upon seeing the palace for a number of reasons. One of which she preferred not to consider a reason, at all.

Though the garden was scarce with vegetation, the vines had left a thick nest of twigs and wooden braid of their skeletons along archways that led her to the back entrance of the palace. She assumed the doors were locked and had barely an idea where Frollo's private chamber would be located. Lucky for her, she felt adventurous, and once she infiltrate the palace's boundaries, she was free to roam. Even if the guards saw her, Frollo would not allow anything to happen on her behalf.

Esmeralda started by carefully scaling a barren trellis against the stone wall. It brought her up to a balcony where she hopped over the stone banister and tiptoed towards the balcony door. Cupping her hands around her eyes, she blocked the moonlight out and stared through the glass. From what she could tell only a smoldering fireplace and very few pieces of furniture resided on the other side.

Checking the latch, she twisted the knob slowly.

A click and a fast release, she drew the door open with awe.

"What fools!" She whispered giddily to herself as she slipped between the opening. She closed the door and pressed against the frame. She felt thrilled in this adventure, it deemed to be far too long since Esmeralda got to enjoy her mischievous nature. Her inner trickster was in full throw.

She glanced about her new setting and noted how vast the room appeared, even in the low light, it was grandeur. The fireplace was filled with ash and decaying embers, sinking into the grey remains as they burned softly. The balcony windows were plain, as far as the rest of the windows within the room, they stretched high and heavenward, mosaic in color and art, casting their hued glow to the cold floor with the moon's succor. Like Notre Dame, the ceiling peaked with elegant and well-manicured arches that collected mostly shadows and very light moonshine.

She pressed off the door and proceeded to the exit.

Once there, she listened through the surface for footfalls or voices she might run into on the other side. Still maintaining a somewhat nonchalant and carefree disposition, she still wanted to surprise Frollo with her crafty intrusion, if it even an intrusion at all. When she heard nothing, she eased the door ajar and peered into the corridor.

Empty.

Creeping out into the dimly lit hall, she hurried to one side and edged towards every passing door with precaution, coupled with ardor. So far every door seemed either empty inward or locked. Now that Esmeralda was indoors and well beyond authorized limits, she began to second guess herself.

Was he on the third floor? Perhaps the first? What if he weren't here at all?

As she tiptoed passed what seemed like another disappoint, she heard the creaking groan of a bed frame and a sigh, definitely masculine in tone.

Esmeralda faltered there, she hunkered down and squeezed one eye shut as she peered through the key slot. She didn't recognize the room, but she was familiar with the smell that wafted beneath her nose. A grin lifted her full lips as her hand wrapped around the handle. Easing the entryway open, it groaned immediately, causing Esmeralda to freeze in place. Her heart caught in her throat while her ears strained for sign that she had awoken the judge. Once she realized she hadn't, she slipped into the chamber and quietly shut the door behind her.

She wanted to pounce.

She wanted to sneak onto the bed, arouse him with kisses.

She desired to do a number of things, but couldn't seem to pick with the excitement that predominated her thoughts. Instead, she withdrew her hood and eased softly across the floor until she was bedside while avoiding the moonlight that sliced a sliver across the bed and a small portion of the room.

Ebullience buzzed through her veins at intoxicating levels as Esmeralda mounted the bed one leg at a time. The figure could be anyone, she thought. But the overwhelming aroma of parchment paper, books and sweet wine told her she was no fool. Considering his state of oblivious disposition, she reined against startling Frollo too terribly bad, for fear the man just might keel over.

She straddled his hips over the bedding and settled her weight down.

Immediately, he stirred awake, his head turning forward to see who was upon his body.

Both hands seized her by her hips as she leaned forward over his shadowed face until their lips brushed against each other.

As the kiss deepened, their mouth's melting as one, Esmeralda barely noticed the facial hair that brushed along her chin, or the faint smell of sweat and cheap perfume. He lifted from upward, wrapping his arms around Esmeralda's torso to bring her closer and it was then that the moon light gave her what she did not want.

For before her was not the Judge Claude Frollo.

But the Captain of the Guard.

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**Huge, huge, huge thanks to my beloved friend, Nessa for helping me with the chapter and getting the words and setting out that I need. Probably one of the most comical, playfully writers out there. Cheesydork is her screen name and she is excellent at Marvel fanfics, and is currently writing AU Guardian's of the Galaxy, which has received so much support. Please take a gander her way if you need a laugh.**


	10. Chapter 10

Esmeralda yelped as she scrambled back from Phoebus. Falling back onto her rump, her arms and legs kicked madly against the constricting sheets while Phoebus attempted to hold her still.

She shrieked as he leaned forward, snagging both of her wrist, he yanked her forward and back into his arms.

"Release me!" She wailed, flailing against him while he wrestled with her.

"Esmeralda, stop!" Phoebus barked. He threw her against the bed and pinned her with his weight. Both of her wrist were ensnared by his grip as he suspended over her.

"What are you doing?" He panted as she squirmed to get free.

"I made a mistake!" She tried, finally succumbing to him. She laid there while she searched for the correct words to explain her action. "I didn't mean to do this."

He released his hold and sat back onto his heels. "You mean to say you crawled into my bed and kissed me by sheer accident?"

Esmeralda quickly removed herself from the confining sheets and stood near the window. "I thought you were someone else." She stood before the window with the moonlight to her back. Esmeralda was but a shadow, a moving silhouette before Phoebus, who was well within it's pale light. She watched his face stricken with clarity before his entire body went slack. He sank back onto the bed and ran a hand through his golden hair, appearing internally wounded.

"You actually came here for Frollo." He stated with dejection.

A moment passed before either spoke. Esmeralda was not sure if answering made much of a difference, no matter who she meant to kiss, the end result was the same; anyone but Phoebus.

"I-I'm apologize for intruding," she whispered into the shadows of the room. "I must be leaving." She moved for the door, but as she did, Phoebus jumped from the bed and stepped between her and the only exit.

"Phoebus," she said sternly. "I'm taking my leave now." She coaxed the words out, hoping to will him to move with that alone. However, the newly anointed judge anchored in place, and as she went to step around him, he caught her by the arm and slung her back towards the window. Nearly falling, Esmeralda stumbled back from the force while a wave of trepidation fired her senses to life. She righted herself and began searching for alternative means of escape.

"Phoebus," she gasped, "Move out of the way. I do not wish to be here any longer. I thought you were Claude."

"I know exactly who you mistaken me for!" He shouted back. Standing in nothing but cotton breeches, Phoebus loomed forward and suddenly, Esmeralda was keenly aware of his stature and size. She had almost forgot the things this Captain was capable of, or the fact that the man was a warrior, who'd tasted battle and drew blood, perhaps tasted both. Esmeralda scrambled back as his came forth, her legs ate away until the back of them came in contact with a surface. Her knees buckled and unwittingly she plopped down onto a chair.

Phoebus stalked closer until he was leaning forward with both hands propped against the armrest of Esmeralda's seat. Their faces were mere inches apart, she could feel his breath wash over her and the heat from his body.

"You have no idea, do you?" He began with subtle amusement.

Esmeralda furrowed her brow with confusion as she sank in her seat, "What do you mean?"

Phoebus reached for Esmeralda's face, brushing his fingertips along her cheekbone, "You poor thing." A smile crept upon his lips as he brushed her hair back from her cheek. She was too caught in what the man could be referring to, though she had not a clue, she sifted through her thoughts as to what could be the mystery he was taking so long in revealing. Did he know she was coming? Was this but a trap she had lured herself into?

Snatching his hand into her grip, she tossed it aside and chided, "Quit playing games and tell me why you're in Frollo's chamber."

"I will now occupy these spaces for the time being, Frollo will no longer reign as Minister for Paris." He returned his hold to the armrest that surrounded both of her sides. "I am acting judge until King Louis finds a suitable replacement, and I can return to the Guard."

"Replacement?" Esmeralda echoed incredulously. "Replacement what behalf?"

"For harboring gypsies." Amusement smeared across the man's face, who had once appeared handsome and somewhat admirable, Esmeralda could no longer fight the repulsion that followed every time she looked upon Phoebus.

"Who said he was harboring anything?" Esmeralda pressed.

"Just the way the king sees it."

"That doesn't justify as means for punishment. Can he even prove Frollo was harboring gypsies?" Esmeralda was beginning to feel frustrated with Phoebus and King Louis. Every which way she turned seemed to have an obstacle in the way, or a riddle to be solved.

"He doesn't need to prove anything, Esmeralda. He is the King of France. Besides," he seemingly purred as he leaned even further forward than before. "He knows your face and will be looking for you."

Esmeralda had wedged herself into the corner of her chair and had no further room to lean way. As he pressed his face into her raven locks, he took a deep breath and then whispered, "I have the power to execute him, Esmeralda. Would you like to see him hanging from the gallows?"

"No!" Her mouth expelled without a second's thought.

A throaty chuckle resonated from deep within his chest. "It's either that, or exile. Pick your poison."

"You're leaving it up to me?" Esmeralda asked with bewilderment.

"Would you be interested in a bargain?" He replied coolly.

"Not with the likes of you." She grumbled.

He lowered himself onto his haunches where his chest brushed against Esmeralda's knees. "This can go one or two ways, Esmeralda."

"On with it!" She demanded, growing tired and perturbed with his round about antics.

"As acting judge, I will only exile Frollo from Paris, not France entirely, but only if you agree to be my bride. If you decide to decline my offer, I'll have Frollo hanged."

Esmeralda cringed, but wasn't entirely shocked at his proposal, however flaccid it appeared.

"That won't work," she concluded. Her eyes flickered to Phoebus to watch the contemptuousness drain from his face. Where the arrogance faded, a glowering brow emerged.

"It most certainly will." He retorted almost defiantly.

"You are more dumb than you look, Phoebus." She nudged him with her knees roughly and stood. Phoebus quickly roused to his full height as she meandered towards the doorway.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He warned as she reached for the handle.

A smirk crept up her face when she glanced back towards the new judge. "You're a poor business man, Phoebus. Stick to the battleground where you belong."

As her hand encased the metal curvature, Phoebus' laughter filled the room, quickly to follow was the groaning sound of wood sliding against wood. Esmeralda glanced back to see that Phoebus had plopped against the bed frame while he chuckled to himself almost ostentatiously. Both hands draped over his stomach as if it pained him to laugh so deeply.

"Stop this nonsense, Phoebus." Esmeralda warned. She took the handle and threw the door open.

"Poor Esmeralda," Phoebus sighed, making her next step freeze in midway. "Your judge is already dead."


	11. Chapter 11

Esmeralda was not in tune with her emotional mien. When the gypsy was happy, she was happy, sure. When she felt sad, she _felt _it. Those were trivial.

But where love became a concern, the gypsy maiden knew not what to do, or what to do _with_ it. She was still so young and vital, she'd traveled miles, cultivated even. But still, love was not a journey she had trekked, a foreign path with shadows and cobwebs and dangers.

Now it would be a perpetual mystery, for the incipient affection she had just begun nursing to life, was lost to time, and in it's stead, a narcissistic meathead would take the reins and steer her like drones of cattle to the butcher.

"What?" She whispered. Her hand released the door while her knees began to quake. She sank to the floor, clutching her midsection for fear she would fall apart. "_What_?" She pressed more vehemently as the warm tears drowned her vision.

Phoebus had stopped his flippant game and now stood motionless before the foot of his bed. He almost appeared too wary of Esmeralda, and would not approach her. His silence, on the other hand, was what she desired. She did not want to hear his voice, utter his name, or banter anymore on his behalf.

She needed out of the Palace of Justice, away from the shades of burgundy, the smell of parchment paper, thick ink and quills, and the wine that permeated from every surface of Frollo's bedroom.

Books upon books, yellowing papers, and the many weeping candles, these things were no longer oasis' to her mind or beacons of light.

"I have to get out of here." Esmeralda choked as she staggered to her feet. She wiped her eyes and stepped out into the corridor. She knew her way back to the balcony, she would take the same trellis down and be homeward before sunrise, she hoped.

But as she moved silently down the hallway, as the tears flowed with no restriction, she could no longer will the next step. Esmeralda came to one side of the hallway where she pressed her back against the surface and slid down to the floor. Her legs went out while her hands remained limp in her lap. The forlorning tears rolled their path's down Esmeralda's soft skin. She lasted there until Phoebus arrived.

He squatted down alongside the gypsy dancer and waited for the storm to pass. When her breathy pants turned into deep respires, he spoke. "Forgive me for mocking you, Esmeralda."

He took her hand into his which she immediately retracted. She shifted her torso away until her peripheral's could no longer see him.

Phoebus cleared his throat while his mind assembled his next choice of words.

"I did not kill Claude Frollo," he whispered. "Neither did the king." He watched as Esmeralda took heed of this. She glanced over her shoulder with knitted brows.

"Then what happened?" She asked as she sat back and looked to the sun god. Her eyes were puffy and red, her face streaked with drying tears. The front of her red tunic had collected all the falling drops, turning it from a rose red to a smoldering crimson.

"He took his own life." Phoebus explained. "When the king stripped him of his power, he felt ruined. He didn't see a reason to continue." As the words drifted from his lips, Phoebus watched Esmeralda meticulously.

First denial.

Her trembling lips pursed together as she fought against another wave of anguish, thus the tears returned in full heartbreak. She weeped before the ex-captain by drawing her knees inward and resting her forehead against them. Her arms enveloped around her shins while she kept her body close as the tears rattled her tiny frame. She wasn't a boisterous weeper, Phoebus noticed, she barely made a sound. If he hadn't previously known she had been crying, he might have mistaken her simply as a lost child inside the palace, waiting for the sun to rise, hiding within herself until her rescue.

Phoebus knew his impending words would either coax the maiden into recognizing her dilemma, or she would fight it with everything under the sun. He had to be careful if he wanted to keep the gypsy girl at his side.

"Esmeralda," he began. She didn't appear to have heard him, or gave him notice that she was listening, so he continued. "I told you the king knew your face, that which is no mistake. I fear that if you do not stay within hiding as long as he resides in Paris, you could be putting yourself, as well as the other Romani, in danger."

Once again, she paid him no mind, and was still lost within her own dolor.

"Stay with me," he whispered. "I can protect you."

She sniffed and lifted her head, "From what?"

"The king!" He urged, "I can keep you safe until he leaves Paris. Did you not hear what I just said?"

"No, I did." She mewled. Esmeralda dropped her head back against the wall and stared towards the ceiling. "I just don't want to believe you."

"You are more than welcomed to find out for yourself." Phoebus suggested. "The king will be awakening soon, I'm sure he has quite the earful for you. That is, if you live through it to see it's absolute conclusion."

Through jaded eyes, she looked to Phoebus. "How long will I stay?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

A soft rapping sounded at the door causing Esmeralda to turn away from the fire. It'd only been a few weeks during Esmeralda's somewhat incarceration, though Phoebus claimed it only to be for her protection from the king. She was starting to wonder if that were true at all.

Before she could respond to the knock, the door creaked open.

"Good morning, Esmeralda." Phoebus said with a grin. He pushed his head through the opening, but stepped no further in.

"Good day to you," the gypsy maiden replied solemnly.

"I have someone to see you." He added with cheer.

"Do what?" Now he had her attention. Before she could stop herself, her mind played the faces she wished to see the most. Djali! Her mind squealed. Clopin! It exclaimed again.

She wasn't expecting to see Quasimodo come through the door.

Though her mind dared not mention his name, just seeing his adopted son come through the entryway made her heart swell and the air from her lungs squeeze out.

"Hello, Esmeralda." Quasimodo said almost shyly.

Esmeralda got to her feet then and raced across the room. She threw her arms around Quasimodo and held on tight. His arms came around her as she stilled against him. When he noticed the subtle quake to her frame, he reached back and grabbed a hold of the door.

"Thank you," he told Phoebus as he shut the door in the Captain's face. When the door closed, he returned his arm around Esmeralda, coddling her as she wept against him.

"It's okay," he cooed, "Everything will be alright."

Esmeralda jerked away from him, glowering. "It will not be alright. Do you have any idea what's going on?"

Quasimodo wiped her tears with a gentle thumb and sighed, "Phoebus told me he was holding you here until the king left France."

"Yes," she grumbled, "But that's not all. I can't leave the palace and visit the Court of Miracles either. I can't even go outside!" The tears had finally ceased and in it's stead, anger rose.

"That's why I'm here," Quasimodo smiled.

When Esmeralda looked to him and noted the soft smile and the kindness that came with his eyes, she respired to herself. As the anger slowly dissipated, the only thing that managed to stave off the perpetual sadness, Esmeralda fought the tears again.

"Frollo's dead." She whispered into her chest as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She felt Quasi touch her shoulder, pulling her into a second embrace. She fell against him, clutching at his garments. They remained in this position for awhile, until Quasi spoke softly.

"I came here not only to provide the comfort you evidently need, but I was sent also to offer you lessons."

Esmeralda stepped away, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Lessons? What do you mean?"

Quasi looked about the room, searching for something, until he discovered the desk across the room. "There we are!" He limped to the desk where the books and parchment paper resided. Esmeralda perked a brow as he rummaged through the draws contents. As he did this, he began stacking parchment paper atop of the desk. He grabbed the onyx ink calligraphy and a feather quill for writing and set it next to the paper. When he turned back towards the gypsy dancer, she was perplexed.

"I'm going to teach you how to read and write." He said tangible fondness.

This continued for another few weeks.

Quasimodo came during the evenings when most citizens of Paris were retiring to their beds. He no longer needed Phoebus to escort him and he made sure the king never saw him coming and going. The sight of the bell tower ringer would raise more questions and the king would only delve further into the matter and probably stay longer in Paris. That, they certainly did not want to happen.

He knew she couldn't run the streets of Paris like she used to, not until the king left, so he came to her instead. She loved the visits, as well as the lessons that came in tow.

On a raining evening, the two sat before the fire. Parchment paper was scattered about the floor with scratches of writing. Some smooth and swifting along the paper, other's gnarled and misshapen.

Quasimodo was hunkered over his work, writing with deep swoops and curves along the paper. His back was towards Esmeralda so that she couldn't see what he was conjuring.

"It's a surprise." He exclaimed with permeated excitement.

So the gypsy waited patiently.

When he was finished, he turned towards her and smiled. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

Esmeralda obeyed without hesitation. Shutting her green pools behind thick lashes, she extended her arms out with her palms facing up. Immediately she felt the tickle of the paper brushing her skin, but she heeded when it came to opening her eyes, anticipating the moment he would say so.

"Okay," Quasimodo said, "You can open them now."

She glanced down at the paper forthwith and examined the scripture before her. The swoops and spirals were beautiful to her eyes, but she still had trouble deciphering the alphabet, much less reading it in it's entirety. Her finger traced the ribbons of black ink across the surface, following every arc, loop, and trajectory as if her motion alone brought the shapes to life.

"What is it?" She glanced up from the writing towards Quasimodo. "What does it say?"

Quasi smiled as he leaned in to coach her, "It's your name, see?" He pointed to the first letter which reminded Esmeralda of a broken comb. "Es-mer-al-da." With each sound he pointed to the corresponding portion of her name.

"That's my name?" She smiled.

"It is," Quasi responded, watching the admiration scour her features. "You have a very pretty name."

"Thank you," Esmeralda smiled even wider. She even felt pretty after hearing his words. "How did you know how to spell my name?"

"Fro-" Quasimodo began to say, until catching himself. He clamped his mouth shut and cleared his throat. "Someone taught me." He tried again, but it was far too late, the gypsy knew what he meant to say.

She dropped her arms, still clutching the paper between her fingers, into her lap, and stared unwaveringly at the bell ringer. He appeared to withdrawal under her harsh stare, though she did not mean to come off menacing. She simply didn't want him withholding anything from her in Frollo's regard.

"Frollo?" She pressed. "Frollo taught you how to spell my name? Why would he do that?"

Quasi wrung his hands nervously and refused to look directly into Esmeralda's eyes. "M-Master would some times go over alphabet with me." He took a slow deep breath as he collected himself. "One day, we were going over names, and he decided to write yours. He taught me." When the soft quivering sound of paper came to his attention, he glanced up towards the gypsy. She was looking down at the paper, shielding her face with a thick curtain of raven colored hair. Her fingers were pinching the parcel tightly her while her body trembled.

A choked sigh escaped her lips as she swallowed the knot that formed in her throat. Quasi quickly crawled to her side, drawing her into his chest. She crushed the paper against her bosom and leaned against the bell ringer.

"Help me," she whispered to the bell ringer. She sat up quickly to stare at Quasi with teary eyes. "Help me get back to the Court of Miracles, Quasimodo."

His brow knitted and a hopeless feeling came over him. "You know I can't, Esmeralda. You have to stay here. It's for your own good.

"No, it's not!" She shrieked, still clutching the paper to her chest. "I can't stay here any longer! Everywhere I turn, _he's_ there! His smell! He's in my thoughts, my dreams, my words!" As Esmeralda grew frantic, the tighter she held onto the parcel Quasimodo had written on. His arms reached out and took her gently by the shoulders.

"Esmeralda," he said with tenderness. "We both know the king is looking for you. This is the last place he would look. Phoebus is right, you need to remain here until he is gone." He watched her bottom lip quiver as she suffered the undertow of her emotions once again.

"Okay," she said meekly. A moment passed while the gypsy collected herself. She sighed deeply and met the eyes of Quasimodo. "Will you teach me something?" She inquired.

"Of course! Anything! What is it that you wish to learn?" Quasimodo replied as he watched her finally remove the parcel from her bosom. She laid it into her lap, and began tracing the letters a second time.

"Teach me how to write _his_ name."


	12. Chapter 12

Phoebus was mounted upon his white stallion next to two of his guardsmen as the king's entourage began mustering for departure. It was an elementary morning for the returned Captain of the Guard. Though, he only acted as Minister of Justice for but a fleeting moment, having returned to a position he felt comfortable with, was relief at it's pinnacle. The guardsman on Phoebus' right opened wide for a heatfy yawn which quickly turned contagious.

For a moment, Phoebus fought against the urge to follow up with his own. But having been awoken at such an ungodly hour, it was difficult to stave off the lethargic heap that hung heavy on his shoulders and eyes.

It was an hour before sunrise. King Louis wanted to start his day early and be on the road before the sun reached the horizon. As the sound of clunking hooves, rattling armor, and soft chatter shifted around the Captain and his two men, Phoebus was ultimately glad to see him go.

His thoughts went back to the gypsy residing in the Palace of Justice while a smug grin tugged at his lips. What a clever idea, he thought. Albeit, he did want to keep her safe, the king had lost interest in her the moment she disappeared from the cathedral. He was quick to bounce back, and surprisingly forgiving. Esmeralda would not know any better, he presumed.

Phoebus pulled at the reins of Achilles, willing the steed to veer left as entourage began their move out.

"Come along, men." He initiated.

The trio began their return to the Palace of Justice where the new judge was still to be decided. A few of the ranks within the parliament had stepped in the empty slot, taking turns at mastering the position, but no man had yet to be anointed, nor were there any ceremonies to be expected well within the future. In the mean time, Phoebus continued to care very little about the antics beyond their stone walls, and only utilized the castle for his own means.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

**[Two Steps From Hell - Black Blade]**

BOOM!

The sound of Esmeralda's chamber door exploding fractured the young gypsy awake. She sat upright in an instant while her mind attempted to gather the havoc that clamored the confines of her room. Starting with the splintered door.

Immediately, Phoebus was upon her, shouting. Throughout the chaos and clamor, she couldn't depict what he was trying to tell her as he roughly took her by the shoulders. He drug Esmeralda out of her bed and pushed her frantically into the hallway.

"What's going on!" She exclaimed, still disoriented from the sleep, as her levels of panic began to climb rapidly.

"The king has turned around! We must go! He'll be here any minute, Esmeralda. Move!" The captain took her firmly by the hand and raced down the corridor. His grip was rough against the gypsies hand, nearly grinding the bones of her fingers together, but the adrenaline that had kick started itself, warded off the pain. It didn't take long until Esmeralda gathered where the two were heading. As soon as she did, she dug her heels into the rug and began to fight against the current.

"No! I can't go back down there!" She wailed, pulling away from Phoebus, like a child unwilling to proceed any further.

"You don't have a choice, Esmeralda!" Phoebus snarled. He yanked her forward, scooped her up into his arms and continued the rest of the way with a flailing and screaming gypsy. She began to kick and punch against the captain, but the armor that encased him inflicted more damage on the gypsy than he. She pulled at his hair, scratched and pushed against his face, as well as snagged anything within arms reach whenever it passed, including door frames, portraits, and other static displays.

"Please, Phoebus!" She cried as they neared the opened door that would lead them to the spiral stairwell. "I can't go in there!"

"The king must not find you. You don't have a choice!" He shouted at her, holding her even tighter so that it pained her to struggle at all. As they narrowed in on the dungeons, the gypsy in Phoebus' arms grew even more rabid. Once they reached the bottom door, he dropped her onto the cold dirt to turn and lock it behind them.

Forthwith, she slipped passed him and nearly made it free from his grasp. The gown she wore to bed proved to be a steadfast anchor for the captain as he snagged the fabric into a tight grip. With all his might, Phoebus pulled her back. He wrapped one arm around her waist as the other slammed and locked the entrance.

"No, Phoebus!" She cried even harder, screaming until her voice broke. Hot tears scorched her face as he drug her to a empty holding cell. "Why are you doing this!" She caught the bars as he went to slip her through the opening.

"Phoebus, wait!" She pleaded, "Just tell me why you're doing this! Please, stop! Don't leave me in here!"

Phoebus planted a hard hand against her bosom and shoved her back into the cell, slamming the bars closed when his arm cleared. She fell to the hardened dirt, landing onto her backside as the Captain turned away. Esmeralda sprang forward at a crawl, reaching through the bars for Phoebus as he walked back towards the entrance.

"Phoebus!" Her voice cracked under her strain to cease the Captains retreat. "Just tell me!" She cried. Even as he ascended, he could still her screams. It disturbed him greatly to treat her like a prisoner, but there was no other way around it. He had to keep her hidden, and he couldn't openly indulge his reason, for he would lose her forever.

He wouldn't allow it. He had come this far, and she was just beginning to succumb to him.

He couldn't tell her that Claude Frollo had returned to Paris.


	13. Chapter 13

Quasimodo was thrilled as he descended from the bell tower and strode for the Palace of Justice at dusk. Paris was winding down for the evening as the skies burning heels cooled against the chasing twilight and tonight would count as the fourth week Quasimodo got to spend with Esmeralda in their studies. She had learned so much, and in such a short time, he was astounded at the willpower she exuded in learning. When it came down to what he enjoyed the most, Quasimodo couldn't decide. Was it how vibrant and keen her green eyes turned throughout the lessons? Perhaps, it was the way her lips curled into a grin when she was correct on spelling, or the tiny bells of laughter he lured from her when she wanted nothing to do with happiness. Either way, Quasimodo hummed with excitement.

Upon arrival, he found the aura of the palace rather off-putting. An eery silence seeped from the walls, like secrets slipping through on a cold draft. He faltered at the entrance while he gave the place a look over, albeit during evening time, the palace always seemed empty and desolate, however, this particular night felt different and uncomfortable to the visiting bell ringer.

Disregarding the unsettling feel, he quietly mounted the stairs until he was racing down the hallway where his destination awaited him.

A smile mused Quasimodo's mouth without realizing as he continued onward with a bouncy gait. He looked forward to the time spent with Esmeralda, and took pride in being the shoulder she could lean, cry, or even learn from. Throughout the weeks, her writing had improved substantially, though it was not very fluid and still gnarled in some areas, when asked to write Frollo's name out, it almost seemed like someone else took ahold of the quill, for the penmanship turned smooth and elegant as the _F_ connected to the _R_, before rolling out the remaining letters. Quasimodo could tell she took pride in dressing up his master's name. He sometimes pictured Frollo and he studying in the bell tower, accompanied by the beautiful gypsy. They would enjoy lunch together before Esmeralda would delightfully entertain them with her hypnotic dancing. It was merely a dream, but thinking about it alone, brought him great comfort.

Quasi's elaborate musing brought him before the shattered remaining door before he realized it.

He gaped in silence as the scene unraveled like a storm.

When his eyes scoured the jagged edges and bits of wood littered about the area, he blinked, thinking it was from his imagination. But as they moved through the entryway, into the chamber, the clarity slowly began to seep. It was all very real.

"Esmeralda?" Quasimodo said aloud, as he stepped over the broken door and debris. "Esmeralda, are you in here?"

The chamber was destroyed.

The down pillows were gutted, splaying white and grey feathers about the room. Some of the portraits Quasimodo remembered from previous visits, were knocked off the wall, torn and strewn about the floor. An armoire in the corner of the room missed a door and the drawers were yanked out and unhinged; the fabric within them, plucked and dangling from the edges. Esmeralda's vanity mirror was smashed to bits, shards of the glass glittered along the dresser while the remnants hung precariously from their mount, a breath away from slipping from it's wedge and crashing down with the rest of the mess.

A shifting noise from the far side of the room surprised the bell ringer. He stumbled back and considered fleeing until Phoebus loomed out of the shadows of the wash room. His heavy armored boot crushed against the fallen glass as he stepped out. He appeared sullen and unnerved.

"C-Captain," Quasimodo stuttered. "What happened here? Where is Esmeralda?"

Coming forth from the shadows, Quasi noticed the scratches along his jawline and neck. His hair was mussed and disheveled like he had gotten into a scruff recently.

"Quasimodo," Phoebus said with a raucous voice, "I tried."

The bell ringer edged forward when he suspected the captain to collapse. Hesitant at first, his arms reached out, hoping to catch the falling man, but he righted himself.

"Tell me what happened, Phoebus." Quasi pressed, "Where is Esmeralda? What happened to her?"

"She," Phoebus began before the words caught in his throat. His face grimaced as he tasted the ugly response. "I tried to stop her, Quasimodo." He met Quasi's hardened stare with blue orbs tinged with red and swelling with tears. The liquid spilled over, racing down to collect as one near his chin while he stood beside himself. A choked cry came to his lips, even snot began to seep from the captain's nose.

"I can help, Phoebus." Quasi assuaged. "Just tell me where she is."

Phoebus looked to the floor while he wiped the mucus from his snout. Slowly, he directed his gaze to the opened window.

Quasimodo quickly raced towards the opening. His mind conjured the worst possible discovery but as he leaned over the edge, and sought down below, he saw nothing but a dark colored stain smeared against the stone pavement. It's maroon blemish only evident by a nearby torch light, a dark splotch against the pale concrete. He sat up forthwith and looked to Phoebus, his eyes searched the captain's face for answers, praying it wasn't the unimaginable.

"Did she…," his voice trailed off while in his mind, he pleaded that it wasn't so. "Did she jump?"

Phoebus, who still looked to the floor, cleared his throat and nodded solemnly.

Quasimodo felt like his own knees were growing weak. He hunkered down, holding onto the ledge with one arm, his other wiped the amber hair from his forehead. It almost seemed surreal, a dissonant feeling that churned uncomfortably in his gut. What was happening in his life that two individuals would self-murder? And for what cause?

"No!" He almost whimpered while the pain of loss constricted around his heart. This would be the second person Quasimodo had lost, as if he hadn't suffered enough bereavement as the orphaned bell ringer of Notre Dame.

Nothing was adding up for Quasimodo, the pieces were not fitting and the loose ends were far from meeting.

His master was a God-fearing man, who weighed the city of Paris on his shoulders. It didn't seem appropriate behavior when Frollo had taught Quasimodo all verses and degrees of sin, including self-immolation. Moreover, why would a free-spirit like Esmeralda reduce herself to the same tragic mélange? She was a gypsy, yes, but life was a constant struggle for the Romani, and Quasimodo knew her well enough to see that defeat was not an option for Esmeralda, even the self-inflicted kind.

The same uneasiness he felt the moment he entered the Palace of Justice, although always there, came to his attention for a second time. A slow wave of trepidation washed over Quasi, instilling him. Something was awry, but what?

"Go, Quasimodo," said the captain, pulling the bell ringer from his mental castigation. "Go home."

Without a reply, Quasimodo quickly left the room and hurried back to Notre Dame.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Quasimodo was in a speedy pursuit for Notre Dame. The bell ringer felt that the sooner he arrived in the holy confines of the church, the sooner he would receive answers from _somewhere_, _anywhere_.

He scaled the neighboring building, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, while the sight of Notre Dame slowly crept towards him. Dropping down from a slippery ledge, Quasimodo hit the cobblestone with his feet and kept running. He didn't slow down as he fled across the square, not even when he mounted the few steps before the great gates of Notre Dame, and certainly not when he took the several flights of stairs to the spires of the cathedral. Every door he came in contact with, was strewn open, left in a gaping yawn as he hurried to the bell tower.

The night had turned thick with shadows while an overcast hung above Paris, snuffing out the moon's pale glow. As Quasimodo began his final ascent to the rafters that were his home, he slowed his steps and steadied himself on breathing. The wooden ladder groaned against his weight when he stepped upon it, and continued to whine beneath him until he was safely mounting the foundation of the bell tower.

The bell ringer, with his uneven gait, proceeded for the table in which he performed many of his crafts and etchings. In the poor lighting, he sought out the lilac colored skirt and the tambourine touting carving of Esmeralda. The small hand-made trinket was positioned in the center of Paris' square, where she made the most impact on his heart. Carefully plucking the wooden doll from it's prop, he cradled it with tenderness in his large calloused paws.

So this is what if felt like, he thought. Albeit, he lost his master in it all, it was nothing in comparison to losing a friend like Esmeralda.

Was the bell ringer cursed? Had he done something to induce this hardship?

A formidable weight wrapped around Quasimodo's chest at the thought of being alone for the remainder of his already scarcely populated life. No soul would willingly make the effort to gaze upon his marred face, nor be accompanied by the sound of his voice. Even his crafty trinkets would not stave off the loneliness. He wondered if the archdeacon knew of the misfortune that was wreaking havoc in Quasimodo's life? And if so, would he make the journey to the top to ensure everything was well enough for the bell ringer?

The pressure was rising for Quasimodo. He had never _really_ been alone, he had always had Frollo by his side, and once stripped out that, it wasn't long until Phoebus brought him from the bells to the Palace of Justice. Quasimodo always had someone there for him. Reaching across the table, he plucked the carving of Judge Frollo from the bell tower and held it next to the wooden gypsy, all the while exuding the same benevolence as before. It was as if the items were the last proof that he had ever had a family. Cradling the trinkets against his chest, he sank to his knees and began to weep.

Quasimodo was alone for the first time of his life.

Truly alo-.

"My dear boy," a grave voice inquired from behind, familiar in baritone and octave. "What is the matter?"


	14. Chapter 14

**[Warning : Rape]**

Quasimodo's weep transcended from sorrow to utter, elated relief, but the tears continued to flow. He dropped the trinkets immediately and rushed towards Frollo, his master. Falling to his knees, he clutched at the black velvet robe near Frollo's feet and cried.

"Oh, master!" He weeped, "I thought you were dead! They said you were dead!"

"My goodness, Quasimodo." Frollo said confoundedly. "What nonsense are you blabbering? And where have you been? Did I not say you were forbidden to leave the bell tower? I've been waiting hours for your return."

Had it been any other day, Quasimodo would not have been so unabashed. Just seconds ago, he wept for his abandoned soul, but there was hope, Frollo was not dead and had come back, for him even! He threw his thick arms around the minister's legs and continued to cry tears of hysterical joy.

The bell ringer felt a hand plant softly upon the mound of his shoulder. "Quasimodo." Frollo said in a sober voice. The minister knelt before his adoptive son, catching his chin, he brought his face upward and stared him in the eyes.

"Yes, master?" Quasimodo blinked, freeing the tears caught at the corner of his eyes.

"What has gotten into you, my poor boy? This blubbering mess of emotion and clamor is unlike you. What is the matter?" He stood, bringing Quasi to his feet. Frollo brushed the strands of rogue hair that hung about the bell ringers face before crossing his arms patiently.

"Master," Quasimodo began, " the gypsy girl, Esmeralda."

A shadow came over Frollo's expression, marring it with grim disposition. His dropped his arms and sliced a hand through the air. "Stop right there, Quasimodo." The minister snapped. "There will be no further discussion on that woman's behalf." He began to turn away from Quasi and leave altogether, but Quasimodo wouldn't allow it.

"Master, wait!" Quasi pleaded.

He sprang forward, catching the judge by his wrist. The judge halted at once and spun around with admonishment, shocked even, at Quasimodo's uncharacteristical antics. He knew his behavior would have consequences. To lessen his boldness, he fell to his knees while both hands held onto his wrist and bowed his head between his extended arms.

"Master, forgive my foolishness." He said to the rafter floor. "But Esmeralda is dead." The words slipped out broken and weak as he lifted his gaze to his master. Frollo no longer appeared alarm for his harsh features softened with confusion and wonder.

"But…, how? How do you know this?" Frollo pressed vehemently.

"She-," Quasi attempted but his words were cut short by a knot in his throat. To confess it aloud was much different than merely thinking it. The tears were welling in his eyes again as he felt like he couldn't get the words out at all. The bell ringer took a deep breath and whispered, "She jumped from a window."

Frollo turned towards the balcony that faced out towards the city of Paris before he glanced back down at the kneeling boy. "Quasimodo," he began while narrowing his eyes with scrutiny. "Did you say you thought I were to be dead?"

"Yes, M-master." Quasimodo muttered with remorse while lowering his eyes to the floor.

"Nothing to be ashamed of, my child." Frollo assuaged. "Do tell me who pampered these lies."

"The Captain of the Guard, sir," Quasimodo claimed quietly. His breath quickened as he thought of the passed visits he had with Esmeralda as the anxiety of it all grew internally. She was sad, that was evident. Perhaps even depressed, for what? Quasimodo had a few ideas. Had he been more keen and attentive to her distress, would she still be alive? The unknown seemed more agonizing as he weighed the chances. She could still be alive had he become more reliable and available to her. Esmeralda had needs to be catered to. The woman was falling apart before him, and he did nothing to adhere to it.

Unwittingly, Quasi sighed with a despondent ache. "It's my fault," he whispered. He released his master's arm and buried his face into the palms of his hands.

"No," Frollo said with a soft tone. "You've done nothing wrong, Quasimodo."

This gentle notion brought the bell ringer aback. He lifted his head from his hands and stared up at his patriarch.

Frollo's thin lips turned into a hard grimace before he glanced downward to Quasimodo. "Did you happen to see the gypsy girl? Or did the Captain merely _say_ she was dead?"

Quasimodo looked away abashed. "He told me, master."

The minister made a curt _hmph_, before continuing. "And what else? Did you see anything?"

"Her room was devastated," he muttered as Quasimodo thought back. "I saw blood on the pavement below."

"But you never veritably _saw _Esmeralda?"

"No," he responded.

"Precisely," Frollo considered quietly. He stepped away from Quasimodo and approached the balcony where the night air chilled the stone architect. The bell ringer stood to his full stature and eyed the minister from there.

"Seeing as the Captain mislead you greatly, "Frollo began, " What else has he lied about? Hmm?"

"What are you saying, Master?" Quasimodo inquired meekly. "Is Esmeralda still alive?"

"I do not know, dear boy." Frollo said to the cold air, "But I intend to find out."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The moment Esmeralda heard staccato footsteps bouncing off the stone walls from the stairwell, she moved herself away from the cell's bars and onto the far side. Pressing her back against the cold confinements, she waited while the fury she repressed for two days slowly clawed it's way to the surface like a drowning animal. Her nostrils flared at the sound of the chamber door opening and then slamming closed. By the subtle clanking and scuffs of armor, she knew forthwith it was Captain Phoebus.

And it was.

Stepping into view, the blonde guard stood before her with a coalesce of emotions.

Shame.

Guilt.

Longing.

It made Esmeralda's stomach twist with contempt that he would have such audacity to lock her away like a pet, pulling her out to play like a toy from a shelf.

"Esmeralda." He said with sanction. He knew she was furious. "Forgive me."

"Forgive you?" Esmeralda retorted, "Ha!"

He began unlocking the cell door as he stared at her from across the space. When the latch released, he slid it to the side and extended an armored hand. "Come here," he said softly.

Esmeralda did not budge.

"Please," he added when she refused to obey.

"I would rather rot in here than spend another moment with you." Esmeralda snarled with a quaky voice. The admonishment she felt hammered her heart against her rib cage as she stared the captain adamantly.

"Come here, or I will come get you." Phoebus warned.

"I'm not afraid of you." The venomous words slipped passed clenched teeth.

In an instant, he crossed the threshold and entered the confines of the cell, narrowing on the gypsy dancer. She remained in place until the captain was upon her within a few strides. Planting both hands against the wall on either side of her head, Phoebus leaned in until their noses barely brushed.

He was now mirroring the same acrimony that she displayed. Esmeralda crossed her arms defiantly and looked to the side, focusing on the wall to her right.

"Look at me," he hissed.

But she did not.

He exhaled with frustration through his nose, washing her with soft gust to the face. "Look. At. Me." He repeated a second time.

Still, the gypsy refused to abide by the Captain of the Guard's commands, which was evidently a soft spot.

In an instant, his hand shot forth and then he had her by the jaw with a vise-like grip. He forced her to turn her head until she looked up at him head on. The hold hurt, as well as frightened her. He stepped back away from her while maintaining his grasp along her jaw. Esmeralda had no choice but to follow suit. As he drew her from the wall, his free hand came around and took a firm hold at the base of her neck. He released her jaw and began steering her out of the cell. Esmeralda's feet stumbled forward as she was directed out into the corridor of the dungeon.

He veered her right, leading her towards the doorway that would bring them to the stairs. Albeit, she wanted to be free of this oppressing place, however, she did not want to be treated like a inferior. She dug her heels into the floor, resisting the pressure he applied at her neck and swung her elbow back.

The moment her arm connected with some part of Phoebus' face, he released his hold and howled. At that second, she sprang forward, but as she did, she was caught immediately and pain then followed.

By the gypsy's hair, Phoebus fisted her tresses with abhor, yanking her back towards him. It was her turn to cry out in pain. Out of reflex, her arms shot back, encasing the hand that had a hold of her hair. She dug her nails into the soft cloth of his gloves before he roughly tossed her against the nearby wall. Esmeralda's frame slammed against the surface hard enough to expel the air from her lungs. The blow to her head weakened her knees. She staggered backwards with sparks of light flickering across her vision as her weight gave way to gravity. Crumpling to the damp stone floor in a slack heap, her hands went to her head where the damage occurred. A muffled groan emitted from the incapacitated dancer as she writhed from the throbbing pain about her head.

But Phoebus was not done with her, not quite.

He came forth as she laid stunned upon the ground. Kneeling, he snagged her wrist and yanked her upward. Her body, still slack from the trauma, was ragdolled and disoriented. He hoisted her up effortlessly and pinned her face first against the same wall she collided into. With his forearm, he pressed against the back of her shoulders to hold her still, as the other rummaged about the hem of her chemise, feeling for it's opened end. As soon as he did, he found the knickers she wore and forcibly ripped them from her buttocks. He tossed the shredded fabric aside.

Phoebus then leaned into her hair and spoke headily against her ear while his fingers unlaced the zaftig breastplate about his chest.

"I gave you my blood," he growled into her raven hair. "And this is how you treat a man who saved your life?" The armor came loose and fell freely to the cold floor. He knocked it aside and closed the distance between he and the gypsy maiden. With his boot, he kicked at her ankles, spreading her legs apart. His forearm that propped her against the wall, found itself fisting her thick hair again, pulling it back until her face aimed towards the ceiling so that he had a better view of Esmeralda's expression. He wanted to see the hurt when it was delivered.

The gypsy maiden's breathing began to labor as she fought to clear the muddle from her mind and body.

"No," she gasped. The room slowed from the swimming vertigo as her thoughts became more coherent and conscious. "No!" She said with more resolve.

She felt the back his hand brush her bare rump as he began to untie the front of his trousers. He pressed her firmly against the wall, readying to enter her core. Then she felt the skin on skin contact. The heat from his firm sex brushed the entrance of hers only briefly. It was then that fear sank it's teeth bone deep.

"No!" This time her scream came out with shattering clarity. It's resonance bounced off the walls, seeping into the the nooks and crannies about the dungeon and then the gypsy began to flail madly. Phoebus shifted his weight against her as her struggles gained. He lowered his hips as he used himself to spread her entrance, all the while Esmeralda's vociferating ensued.

_BOOM!_

The dungeon door was thrown open with enough force, it's entire frame vibrated from the blow like a plucked string.

Through the clamor and chaos, Quasimodo stumbled forward with the judge in tow.


	15. Chapter 15

"What in God's name is going on here!" A dark and booming voice filled Esmeralda's head with familiarity.

"Help me!" She screamed as she struggled against the captain and the wall, she could see the two male figures at the corner of her eye, but could not make out much else.

Phoebus pushed off over her, relieving the weight against her back. Her hands quickly shoved away from the wall, stumbling towards the figures at the door. Tripping, she collapsed to the floor and crawled the remaining way on her hands and knees.

"Help me," she gasped as the tears spilled from her eyes. It was then that she saw him. He was already moving around Quasimodo, their eyes locked onto one another, reaching for her. Her hands came up as Frollo knelt, gathering her into his arms. She embraced him around his neck and shoulders as he lifted her to her feet, pulling the gypsy away from Phoebus.

"What have you done!" Quasimodo shouted towards Phoebus as he glanced between the rescued gypsy and the captain. His massive shoulders began to tremor with rage, even his arduous breathing was audible as he bore into the captain before him.

"Quasi," Phoebus began after adjusting his decency, both hands rose palms outward in surrender. "Let me explain."

"EXPLAIN?" Quasimodo roared. "You said she was DEAD! You murdered _everyone_ with your lies!"

"I should have you flogged for this behavior." Frollo growled with the gypsy pressed into his side.

Phoebus took a slow step back, increasing the distance between he and the hunchback. "Easy, Quasimodo." Phoebus cooed with a collected approach. "I did it for everyone's own good." He pointed a firm finger towards Judge Frollo and stated, "I was protecting her from _him_."

Quasimodo lowered his hands out to his side with clawed fingers. The bell ringer was slipping into a murderous rage as he sauntered toward the captain.

"She should have been protected from _you_!" Quasi shouted until his voice broke. "You pitted us all against one another, claiming we were dead to keep us separated!" The bell ringer let out a howl while he vised handfuls of his own hair.

He threw his hands down ,"I should kill you myself!" As a hand swiped through the air. The increasing rise and fall of the bell ringer's mighty shoulders continued as the resolve rapidly came to a head.

Phoebus narrowed his blue pools as the trio before him came to their conclusion.

Yes, he lied about everything.

The judge did not self-murder, he was ordered to attend additional studies at the ministry. King Louis XII was the acting judge for the entire while that he was in Paris, not Phoebus. Even though the king briefly promoted him, he revoked it and thereafter, proceeded to rule and govern as judge. The king arranged that as long as he remained in the city, Claude Frollo would sharpen his judicial endeavors elsewhere until the royal court departed. During that, Phoebus was so spellbound to have the gypsy to himself, he utterly forgot that the judge would soon be returning and upon that moment while he ambled the streets of Paris, Phoebus had spotted Frollo exiting a carriage and merely reacted out of panic, thus bringing the gypsy to the belly of the dungeon. She had just started opening up to him, as well, or so it seemed at the time.

"I gave you my blood." The captains voice began, quivering with fury. "I _protected_ you, _fed _you, _clothed _you!" His voice began to rise as he spoke. "You're no different than any other _whore_!" By then, his chest flared out as the anger rose, exciting his lungs and glistening the corners of his mouth with froth. In an instance, he lunged forward, crossing the dungeon spaces in a single stride until he was nearly upon Esmeralda. Frollo immediately pushed her back behind his frame and blocked the captains path just as Quasimodo jumped into action.

The hunchback slammed his shoulder into Phoebus's midsection in an attempt to knock him off balance, but the captain shoved the bell ringer to the floor using his own inertia. He stepped upon Quasimodo with heavy armored boot and continued to advance the gypsy.

"Captain, stop this at once!" Frollo bellowed as he blocked the doorway with his body.

"After I kill her first." Phoebus snarled as he reached for the judge.

Snagging Frollo by his collar, the captain lifted the old judge off the floor, turned and threw him back towards the bell ringer. The judge was tossed against Quasimodo, who was just then getting to his feet.

Esmeralda was already scaling the steps as fast as her legs could pump. Around and around, the staircase turned, until finally she reached the landing. The door was already open, most likely left so by Frollo and Quasimodo upon their descent. She slammed it shut, and frantically looked about for something to place in front of it. She could hear his footsteps eating away at the distance as she considered a narrow and rather small table to her right that held dust riddled books and expended candles. She didn't have time to rush towards it, drag it across the hall, and press it against the door.

The pounding steps were closer now while her eyes darted about the corridor. Esmeralda was running out of options. The only thing available was at the very end of the corridor where it turned left. It was an hollow armor suit.

An impact slammed into the door frame, startling the gypsy. They checked the handle before ramming against it again. She dug her heels into the plush rug beneath her feet, and leaned her weight against the hard surface as it bounced under each blow from the other side. Eventually, he would overcome her.

And he did.

Phoebus slammed against the door for the third and final time, sending the gypsy maiden off of it's frame. She scrambled forward, having nearly lost her foot, and proceeded to run.

The chase was on, but it was short lived.

Esmeralda felt the impact hit her mid section from behind. Together, the two fell to the floor in struggling and grunting heap. She bucked and screamed, digging her fingernails into any exposed flesh as the two fought against each other. Her arms flailed madly, while her legs kicked and her hips twisted. The captain sat upon her front side now, trying for her arms that swung without restrictions after he had flipped her over.

Phoebus swiped her hands way with his arm, reared back a fist and struck the maiden hard against her nose and upper lip. Her head bucked back from the blow and stars exploded across her vision while tears sprang forth.

"Get off me!" Her curdling scream resonated out as she thrashed beneath the assault. She managed to twist herself back onto her stomach and clamber out from beneath his weight. Phoebus lurched forward, snatching her by the elbow and pulled her back. As her body slid back, Esmeralda then slightly turned, drawing her knees close towards her chest. She shot her leg out, ramming her heel into his chest repeatedly until his hold was released. Scrambling to her feet, the gypsy raced towards the empty static armor display at the end of the hall.

In it's lifeless hands, gripped a massive weapon.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Get away from me!" The two ascending men heard during their speedy pursuit. Her voice was breaking from exertion as she screamed her warning.

When Frollo and Quasimodo made it to the landing and hurried through the door, they hadn't expected Esmeralda to be wielding an ax, heaving like a mad woman.

Blood trickled from her nose, coursed over her plump lips and dripped from her chin. The front of her chemise was stained with a melange of her own sweat and the collected blood from her nose. Under the weight of the ax, her knees trembled but she held fast. Phoebus was directly in front of her, his back towards the newly arrived judge and bell ringer.

"Esmeralda!" Quasimodo called out.

As he went to rush towards her, the sound of his voice and advancement caused Phoebus to disengage and lose sight of the threat before him. He took a fleeting glance behind him as Quasimodo honed in.

It was then, that Esmeralda lifted the ax and swung.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

It's these cliff hangers that keep you coming.

If I ended on a subtle note, you would be satisfied, and I CANT ALLOW THIS.


	16. Chapter 16

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**[Warning : Gore & Sex] **

**(Don't worry, not at the same time. Also, I am sorry Phoebus fans, I made him Victor Hugo's version, if that helps.)**

The sound of hacking meat coupled with the wet slippage of metal against flesh followed as the heavy ax sank inches into the captain's right shoulder. His face contorted between discomfort and surprise while his knees began to quiver beneath his weight. Slowly, he sank to the floor, revealing a feral gypsy whose grip still white-knuckled the ax's hilt.

With a grunt, she yanked the weapon from from it's fleshy hold, but didn't stop there.

She swung again.

And again.

And again, until the captain's blood spatter contrasted against her white chemise, and maimed the corridor's ceiling and walls with it's crimson mottle. Four blows in, she felt satisfied in her good work and dropped the ax onto the floor. It hit the deck with heavy thud, smeared and tarnished with Phoebus' blood and now lied next to it's freshest victim.

As the carpet began to soak beneath him, the two scuffed men gave one another a slow glance.

Esmeralda's eyes were instilled onto the dead man before her, tallying him as her second. Her breathy pants were winding down now that the danger was taken care of.

"Esmeralda?" Frollo's grave voice carefully said.

When her green eyes flicked up in their direction, they froze in unison. Frollo and Quasimodo watched in silence as Esmeralda, with her unwavering sage stare, black mussed tresses, and bloodied nose, stepped over the captains deceased body with little regard. One foot managed to step in the soiled rug, dipping her foot in warm blood as she sauntered towards the pair.

She made no evidence that this disturbed her and continued to stalk towards them. With every diminishing step that ate the distance, her features started to soften until her brow knitted with heartbreak. Quasimodo took a quick sidestep as she brushed passed the bell ringer, barely granting him recognition, but he knew well why.

She only wanted Frollo.

The judge's expression was still framed in shock as she closed in on him. The adrenaline that flooded the gypsies veins must have slowed it's dose, for each following step appeared more arduous than the last until finally, she stumbled into him. His expression calmed the moment their bodies met while his eyes watched her scouring hands.

They clawed their way up his torso as she leaned against him. Reaching for his face, she ran her fingers through his silver hair before pulling him down towards her as she pinnacled her height by her tip toes. She met his mouth with hers.

Quasimodo watched the pair melt into each other. Frollo draped his arms around her, pulling her closer as they drank one another in. He glanced away with bashfulness and allowed them some privacy, however minute.

Between the heated kisses, Frollo could taste her blood upon his tongue. Surprisingly, it neither disgusted or repulsed him. Though, he hadn't expected her to rush into his arms and readily kiss him.

She broke away first, pressing her nose against his as she breathed in deeply. "I thought you were dead." She whispered, scratches in the sweet tone of her voice.

The judge held her firmly against him with one arm while he reached up with the other to brush away the strands of hair against her cheek. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but only briefly, for Frollo dipped his head down a second time and claimed Esmeralda's mouth again.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Esmeralda, once again, found herself within stone walls. Albeit, this time it was under her conditions, but even then, it was difficult to remain in place when everything told her to run.

Having the Minister of Justice witness her murdering a man within the court proved to be somewhat convenient, however ironic.

After their heated reunion, Frollo had Quasimodo escort her to Notre Dame, where she cleaned up the mixture of blood and changed into fresh clothes.

Now she waited.

She knew not what Frollo's intentions were or what the plan of action was to be, she was only ordered to wait inside the sanctuary until he arrived. With the good, or bad news in tow.

It'd only been a few hours since Quasimodo returned to the bell tower. She was pleased to see him and hugged him graciously. He planted soft kisses upon her knuckles before bidding her a good night and skirting off towards the spires above. Esmeralda wondered if her murdering Phoebus before him would have a lasting effect, and if it did, would he ever look at her the same? Would he still teach her to read and write, remind her how intelligent she was, or how pretty her penmanship would slowly becoming?

More than likey, no, she thought.

Esmeralda stood from the edge of the bed from where she sat and approached the stained window. Peeking passed the curtains, she watched the citizen's of Paris churn below.

Like currents in the ocean, they meandered around each other, slipping between narrow entries, ducking beneath lumber-carrying men. Some raced after their children as the little ones sprinted towards the Seine river bridge.

Among their faces were happiness, laughter, and untarnished nirvana.

White oblivion.

Things that she had grown to forget about, deluded memories of her previous life she may never experience again, not at this rate, at least. What she would give to just be another dirty gypsy dancing for coins and toiling bread from the baker.

She respired longingly, watching as the faces passed alongside families, or merely enjoying themselves in solitude with not a care in the world, unlike the gypsy dancer who happened to be fearing for her immortal soul.

From there, her thoughts wandered to that the morning of the festival, how one small set back could turn into a concoction of sheer dismay. Had she just remained within the Palace of Justice like a law-abiding citizen would be expected to do, perhaps these series of events could have been avoided.

Esmeralda drummed her fingertips upon on the windowsill while she castigated internally.

What would the reprimands be?

Flogging?

Branding?

Drawing?

The thought of the latter spiked her heart with frenzy. Anything, but that, she prayed. If she were lucky, maybe they would only require her to leave France. That was understandable, but also, very merciful. Something not many gypsies experienced. Exile would be a blessing to receive at this point.

As the sun began to set, and with no sight or sound from the judge, Esmeralda decided to get crawl into bed. Sleep was unobtainable evidently, but she would at least try.

x-x-x-x-x

A few hours in and she was still lying awake, staring despondently at the ceiling. She had considered and calculated every scenario from getting away scott free, to being drug to the center of Paris and publicly disemboweled. Beneath the warm blankets, the gypsy shuddered with fear.

Sometime during the night, a soft knocking interrupted Esmeralda's mental friction. She lifted her head towards the doorway and blinked.

"Come in?" She barely whispered.

The latch clicked and slowly the door yawned open. From the torches within the corridor, she noted Frollo's profile as he entered and shut the door quietly behind him. Esmeralda was now sitting up, eager to hear the message.

Frollo cleared his throat and looked blindly about the room, having not adjusted to the shadows he aimed his sight in the general direction of the bed.

"Well?" Esmeralda inquired.

"I managed to redirect the heat onto another prisoner, who escaped during our…, quarrel." Frollo began, "But I fear too many people have witnessed you in the Palace of Justice, as well as your constant _exposure_ to the Captain of the Guard."

"Do you think they'll find out who really did it?" Esmeralda asked.

"I know they will, once they began pulling testimonies, people will talk." Frollo muttered.

The gypsy girl sighed, "So what do I need to do?"

"I would suggest leaving the country until the trial is ruled unsolved. I told the press I did not see the murder, I merely stumbled upon it, but I cannot continue fabricating lies while you are here. It would be much safer if you left France for the mean time."

"How long do you think?"

"No more than 5 years, I suppose."

"5 years!" Esmeralda gasped. "Where am I to go for _5 years_, Claude!"

Even in the shadows, she noticed his head drop and his shoulders sag, he quietly sighed and ran a hand down the length of his face before facing her again. "Luxembourg, perhaps?

Esmeralda's mouth turned to a frown while her eyes began to sting with tears. "I've been running my entire life, Claude." Her voice whispered into the darkness, quaking with sorrow. "I can't keep running."

Frollo lifted his head and took a quick step towards the bed, "But you must!" He almost pleaded. "Once the king hears about this, he'll know exactly who to be looking for. You have to leave!"

Esmeralda had completely forgotten about King Louis which only brought more weight upon her shoulders and freed the tears from the corner of her eyes. She wiped them away and brought her gaze back onto the judge.

"Five years is a long time, Claude." She whispered.

"That it is, Esmeralda." He replied.

She rose to her knees and crawled for the edge of the bed where Frollo stood. He watched her movement with keen eyes and a calm expression.

"Then so be it," she said softly as their chest met. His arms came to plant themselves along her hips while she draped hers over his shoulder.

She kissed him tenderly, coaxing the desire out of him once more as she fed the flames that burned within him. As the kiss deepened, their tongues met with tantalizing strokes, languid and slow. Both eager to savor the taste of each lick. Esmeralda broke away first and began to push and pull at the fabric he adorned. He followed her lead and pulled the robe up and over his head, discarding it onto the cold floor in a velvet heap. His tunic came next and then the removal of his trousers followed until Frollo was before Esmeralda, stark naked.

She reached out and took him by the hand, luring him onto the bed. He rose a knee and followed. The bed groaned softly under the weight and movement of the pair as Frollo settled himself on top of the gypsy maiden. Their mouths met again while her hands scoured the threads of muscle about his shoulders and abdomen.

He was pale in contrast to Esmeralda's rich complexion.

But their bodies burn at the same degree of desire.

While their mouths continued to explore each other, while Esmeralda's hands slipped passed the ripple of lean muscle, she took Frollo's growing length into her hands. The judge hissed against her mouth and pulled away from the kiss. Her touch was foreign, but lovely all the same as she pressed her hands against his groin.

A shuddering breath escaped the judge when he exhaled, enraptured by the sensation and need that was dawning with clarity.

Suddenly, he sat back, pulling away from her touch. In the dark, the gypsy watched as he brought her legs away from his hips and down to the bed. He ran his hands up the length of her thighs at a smooth and slow pace, before finding the hem of her knickers. Frollo's fingertips hooked over the ends and pulled steadily.

Esmeralda lifted her hips as the soft fabric coursed down her lower-half until Frollo tossed them off of the bed. Her knees were pressed together out of shyness, in which he gently parted until she was fully exposed and open to torture. She grabbed the ends of her chemise and quickly peeled the material away. The mounds of her breast coming into view for the inexperienced judge, he did not know where to begin.

The sound of skin-on-skin and their heavy breathing filled the room as Frollo dug his fingertips into the inner parts of Esmeralda's thigh, his touched emitted a soft moan from the gypsy maiden. He had never been to this point with a woman, but had dreamed of it time and time again, and it was already her face he imagined. Carefully, he reached between her legs and gently ran the pad of his thumb down her center.

Another noise escaped the gypsy, but this time it was a gasp.

Frollo noted that his thumb was moist, upon this discovery his organ throbbed painfully between his legs. Again, he pressed into her wet folds and ran soft circles, luring more responses from the gypsy.

Esmeralda's knees began to tremble under the assault as waves and waves of sensation came to a climbing awareness.

He came forward again, meeting her mouth feverishly, stealing her breathy pants as his own. One arm snaked beneath her neck as Frollo settled against her warm body for a second time. Her legs came up, wrapping around his hips by her knees. He felt the pressure of her heels in the small of his back from her pulling him downward. With his free hand, he reached between their heated frames, taking himself into his hands. He aimed his sex at her moistened opening, rubbing the apex against her sensitive folds.

Esmeralda rolled her hips forward as another gasp slipped out of her.

"Claude," she pleaded.

The judge tilted his hips forward and pressed the head into her core.

At first, there was resistance. Frollo didn't think he could fit without hurting her. His entire body trembled as he pushed further, until the crown of his sex disappeared into hers. Esmeralda's breath hitched and both arms clamped tightly around his shoulders. She seemed to stiffen beneath him.

Frollo could feel the sweat collecting on his forehead, he was far from in. He pushed further while the gypsy dug her nails into his flesh. He faltered there.

"No," she gasped, almost breathlessly, "Keep going."

"I do not wish to hurt you." Frollo replied with a shuddering breath.

Esmeralda lifted her hips, allowing easier entry. She pushed her hips forward, sliding Frollo's length all the way in. He was buried inside now.

The judge gasped in ecstasy while Esmeralda cried out. His hands propped onto either side of her while he tried to rein in the pleasure that nearly incapacitated him.

His hips took accord on their own, withdrawing from her fleshy sheath before slowly burying him back inside.

With every slow pump and stroke, the gypsy maiden grew more vocal and breathless than the last.

Frollo's body wanted to go fast, deeper, harder.

So he did.

He leaned down and took a pert nipple into his mouth, while his hips gained momentum against her sex.

"Yes," she cried as his hips began to buck against hers. Frollo leaned away from tasting both of her breast. One hand cupped over a firm mound, while the other took her leg by the bend of her knee. He elevated it and pumped harder. Esmeralda's hands went out, clutching the sheets beneath her as she cried out with every inch of him that penetrated her deeply. Soon he had both of her legs into his grasp, holding them high and wide as he pumped against her. A pressure started to build within the judge at the base of his spine. The faster he went, the more quickly it began to climb until he, too, moaned and panted above the writhing gypsy maiden.

Frollo was about to reach his zenith and the waves of pleasure were becoming unbearable. He bucked against her with finality, burying himself as far as her body was designed, while his body convulsed and shudder, his seed filling the warm moist walls of her sex. His cries mixed in with the gypsies.

He fell forward on top of her bare chest where her hungry mouth readily met his. Her fingers brushed through his hair, holding him against her hot mouth as they kissed. Esmeralda wrapped her legs around his hips again, pulling him deeper inside as their tongues tangled.

The judge withdrew himself from her slippery core and rolled onto his bed panting. He reached over, taking the sated gypsy by her frame and drug her closer until their sides touched. She twisted towards him and hitched a bare leg over his hips.

They kissed a final time before drifting to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

When Frollo woke to a sliver of sunlight across his eyes. At first he moaned, rubbing his face into the pillow to hide from the shine before lifting his head and blinking against the harsh blaze. It was then when the clarity hit him. Still naked from the previous night's passion, he sat up with a jolt and glanced over to the opposite side of the bed, searching for the naked frame of his gypsy maiden.

But Esmeralda was gone.

He felt through the covers to see if any warmth lingered, but the surface was cold, he then noticed the blood stains that smeared the soft fabric. He knew forthwith what it was when he peeked beneath the covers at his own groin.

Frollo respired heavily from despondency, running a hand through his mussed hair. He tossed his legs over the edge and stood. He threw the curtains back and proceeded to dress himself.

He made it down just a the servants prepared breakfast. Eagerly looking for her flawless face, but even then, she was no where to be found; the judge continued to search. Frollo considered asking the servants if they had seen her, but he feared these words would be misconstrued and wind up in the wrong hands. He discarded this idea.

The judge glanced about the kitchen where the workers maneuvered about one another, readying for the morning meal, but still no sight of her.

He gave the few who glanced his way a glower before heading over to the worship room. Upon his arrival, Frollo noticed the few occupants that scattered randomly about the pews, but none were who he sought. He paused at the entrance of the quiet room while his gaze lifted heavenward. Above, the sun began to penetrate the mosaic glass overhead and basked the altar with spectrum's of colored beams of light.

An uneasiness came over him, almost panicky in nature.

Frollo looked up to the arched ceilings and remembered one other place Esmeralda could be.

With haste, he hurried to the bell tower.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Quasimodo had just finished ringing the mighty bells when he noticed his master clambering up the steps. He appeared faint and disheveled once he reached the top. He also appeared to have just woken, considering the order of his hair, all pushed to one side.

"Good morning, master." The hunchback smiled while he dusted his hands off.

"My dear boy," Frollo panted as he attempted to collect himself. "Have you seen where the gypsy Esmeralda has disappeared to?" The minister's voice was calm, though his eyes suggested his was at his wit's end. He smoothed a hand through his hair and readjusted his robe.

The judge watched as the bell tower's cheerful grin slipped into a frown. Quasimodo sighed, dropping his arms to his side. This visual only heightened the judge's climbing hidden hysteria.

"Tell me boy." Frollo demanded with an undertow of plea.

"Master, she rode out before sunrise." He muttered, looking to the floor. She had come to the bell ringer hours before dawn. Her face was flushed from crying as she gently pressed against Quasimodo's shoulder, luring him from his slumber with tenderness.

She told him goodbye, kissing him on the cheek, before leaving as quickly as she came.

"Where did she go, Quasimodo? You must tell me." Frollo vehemently pressed. His fist were clenched tight and pressed to his chest, where his heart throbbed with misery.

The bell ringer rose his head with a somber expression. "I know not where the gypsy went, Master. Perhaps, north?"

"North?" Frollo echoed incredulously. He turned and proceeded to the balcony that faced the city of Paris. Planting both hands upon the stone banister, he looked out towards the city as he inquired with disdain. "What in God's name is North?"

Quasimodo came to his side to share the same spectacular view of Paris at morning. There was a soft breeze, with scarce wisps of clouds set high. The hunchback took a deep breath of cool air and sighed with a smile.

"Germany, I believe." He replied.

Frollo glanced over to the bell ringer with a perplexed expression. Quasimodo met his gaze just as the clarity struck the judge. He watched him hang his head low with a subtle shake before rising to look upon the city, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

For the first time in Quasimodo's life, he listened to the Minister of Justice chuckle softly.

"No," Frollo whispered to the Paris city, "Not Germany. Luxembourg."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

**Five years have passed.**

Judge Claude Frollo knew not what to expect on the fifth year anniversary since Esmeralda left.

Since his heart left, for that matter.

She had came to him like a storm, swift with winds that coursed over, knocking down the walls he had spent so long in building. And when it was all torn down, demolished, and set in ruins, she disappeared.

No, not disappeared.

Frollo had told her to escape France until the trial blew over. The fact of the matter though, there was no trial. His plan to blame another prison had stuck like tree sap and there were no questions asked. Had he known it would have followed through, he would have never suggested that she leave the country, would have begged her even.

And Frollo was not one to beg.

Days that he had expected her to return turned to weeks, until months later, it was now December and the snow had arrived once more, muting the evening with soft pillows of white. Behind him, a fire blazed with a healthy inferno, staving off the frigid cold that collected perpetually in the Palace of Justice's stone walls.

Before him was his working desk, cluttered with parchments scrawled elegantly with his penmanship, letters folded and tucked away while a candle light danced across the quill and ink blots. The judge sat back into his chair while the silence of winter encompassed him. His fingertips pressed against his temple, rubbing small circles ward off the headache that crept to life behind his eyes.

A grandfather clock across the room maintained it's tempo alongside the soft swooshing of the fire's flame from behind the minister. The hour was late and he had to be getting ready to retire, but there was still so much to do.

King Louis XII had died due to a nasty gout infection. Having no heir to take the throne, his successor became a cousin of the name of Frances, first of his line. The judge was tidying up the loose ends per say, the man was a fan of Italian arts, a humanist, and a knightly king, who kept pulling in far too many Italian painters for his own good, Frollo found this rather random, but he wasn't the King of France, therefore he left it be.

The judge rubbed his eyes and stood, snuffing the candle out as he leaned over his desk. Stacking his books in an orderly fashion, he placed his quill in it's slot and proceeded to head to his private chamber.

It would be another long wait for the Minister of Justice.

Another long year.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

**One year has passed.**

Confetti burst forth, scattering across the sky, and descending in various blues, yellows, and greens. The droves of faces, gathering for another Festival of Fools under the cold, but bright day, clamored and bawled in their drunken stupor, or elated hysteria. Bouncing and bumping against one another as the parade's paraded and the entertainers did what they must.

Frollo was in his usual farouche, but this time he wasn't alone; he allowed Quasimodo to attend. In fact, many things were changing for Frollo's adoptive son. Albeit, they were small in scale in the eyes of the judge, however for Quasimodo, they were drastic improvements to the quality of life, so he never complained.

The pair sat upon Frollo's stage, beneath the awning cloth side by side. The minister had adjusted Quasimodo's garb, not for the festival alone, but lately he had been feeling rather gracious towards the bell ringer. He kept the colors similar to his own, he liked orderly fashion.

Frollo was scanning the crowd when his eyes landed on a pair above freckles that lingered far too long on the hunchback.

"Move along," the judge barked in an authoritative boom, shocking the child from his ill-mannered trance. His bottom lip trembled with dejection before he parted ways, slipping into the vociferant crowd. He glanced back to Quasimodo to see if he had noticed the young child's stare, but he had not.

The judge settled back into his chair and allowed the festival to unfold before him.

x-x-x-x-x-x

"Thank you for allowing me to attend the festival, master." Quasimodo said from the peak of his stairs.

"You're very welcome, my boy. Now get to bed." His profound voice dictated before he spun around and descended the stairs quickly. It had been a frightfully long day for the judge, possibly even for the bell ringer. He was just ready to retire to bed so he could get on with the next day.

As Frollo reached the ground floor, heading west to his side of the palace, he noticed one of the vast doors of the parliament hung ajar.

He glanced about for a servant, but saw none. Grumbling, he marched to the grand surfaces and slid it shut. Sliding the plank into it's slot, he locked it and proceeded to continue towards his private chamber.

Once he reached the landing and ambled down the corridor, his ears picked up something peculiar and random.

Chatter.

By the sound of it, he presumed they were laughing amongst one another. The hour was dreadfully late for the servants to still be awake and this perturbed him. This only meant their inability to be responsible would reflect poorly on their workload the following day. He grumbled again as he neared the servants quarters and came to a standstill.

The laughter continued, but not from the other side.

The source diverted the judges attention further down the corridor, and off to the left.

Pursing his lips, he strode towards the commotion in the same direction his room resided. Mark his words, he thought, if he caught any servants in his chamber, God have mercy on their souls, he would ring them alive! Much to his dismay, the small talk was emitting from his end of the hall. Quickening his step, he was sure he would enter and catch the little miscreants toiling away with his possessions.

Reaching for the handle, Frollo freed the latch, and swung the door open wide.

There were a number of things he noticed first.

The lit fire, a gasp, and the rolling sound of a quill pen coursing it's way to the edge of a desk, before succumbing to the edge and falling.

Before him, a woman spun around, flaring her dress around her ankles, a woman he had dreamed about from the moment his saw her. A woman who had stolen his heart and left him hollow.

"Esmeralda," a voice whispered into the dark room.

His jaw hung slack while words and emotions flooded his head like thunderous rain.

"It can't be," he uttered, slowly entering the chamber spaces.

She smiled in a way that seized his heart over and over, "I've come back."

Without another word, Frollo strode across the room then, eating away the distance as if the time he waited for this moment were but feet across a lavish rug. She met him halfway, throwing her arms around his neck and crushing herself against him. The judge buried his face into the locks of her hair and inhaled deeply. The breath escaping his lungs like a shuddering wind. The embrace was firm, as if the two would coalesce, is only possible.

"I missed you," his words were soft with scratches along the tone of his sonorous voice as he spoke along the flesh of her neck.

"We missed you, too." She whispered back.

Frollo noted this and leaned away to look her in the eye while holding her close.

Esmeralda kissed him then, soft and languid as her body remembered the taste and feel of the man she loved.

"We?" Frollo echoed.

"Yes," she smiled again with the same charisma that nearly stopped his heart. She kept her eyes on his while she slid to the side, allowing her frame to no longer conceal who or what she had been laughing with.

A child.

"Your son and I."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Thanks for reading, guys. 3**


	18. Epilogue : Part 1

Froll had a son.

Could it be?

He could do nothing more than gape at the small figure that hid behind the cascading skirt that was Esmeralda's, clutching it's maroon cloth with tiny fist, concealing his face with shyness, or fear. Either was plausible after the minister had burst into the room with such grandeur.

The judge's mouth began to opened to speak, but no words came to life as he stared wide eyed at the pair before him. For a moment, he felt elated ebullience, having completely forgotten the oath he had sworn to God and the church; remain celibate as long as he was a man of the cloth. In the now, it all seemed frivolous.

However, following his tremendous elation was incredulity. He blinked, clamping his mouth shut while insecurity laced a cruel and cold vise around his beating heart. The time spent waiting for Esmeralda's return manifested a bitterness towards the gypsy, as well as a sense of abandonment. Frollo was convinced he would never see her again and that she had no intentions of returning.

Now, she was before him and all he could feel was tumultuous melange of emotions ranging from hysteria to ebullience that hummed down to the core of every bone he possessed.

"No," he deadpanned, shaking his head. He didn't want to believe such a gift could be so easily awarded. "I bedded you once, Esmeralda. Years ago, and you're just _now_ coming forth and claiming this child is _mine_?" He scoffed as he righted himself with his signature poise, when just seconds before his knees threatened to buckle beneath him. "Nonsense."

Esmeralda's smile faded while she pallored at his disdain and incredulous castigation. "Claude," she began calmly, "I did not know how else to tell you, or if I should at all." She lowered herself to the floor, luring the boy from behind her so that the child could no longer hide. She brought the boy close for a kiss along his temple. "I didn't believe it at first, myself." She reached up and mussed the boys black tresses, drawing a dimpled smile from his silent disposition.

When their eyes met, reflecting the same cloudy grey the judge possessed, the room took an unexpected shift. His hair was dark with a widow's peak, much like the minister before him. Without realizing it, Frollo's hand reached out and grasped the nearby banister of his bed as his waning knees buckled, clearing the strength that kept him righted. He sank to the plush rug beneath him, using the steady post to keep from spilling entirely to the floor.

"My son," a raspy voice whispered into the room. The air within his lungs threatened to expel and leave him gasping for relief. "Is this possible?" He glanced to his beautiful maiden, illuminated by the warm glow of the fire.

Her green eyes held his and she nodded, pushing the child forward gently. "Iean, go to him."

Frollo swallowed thickly, releasing his white-knuckled grip along the post, he brought his arms out in an welcoming embrace.

"Come here, my boy."


End file.
